A Passing Shadow
by VicNoir
Summary: Alternative season 6 and 7.
1. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 1

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 1  
Author: VicNoir  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the actual words on the screen.  
Rating: R  
Summary: An alternative season 6 and 7.   
  
We are but a breath; our days are like a passing shadow.   
Psalms 144:4  
  
I've been at the whole Slayage thing for what-almost six years now? Gotta say, I've seen some really gruesome things: people with their guts ripped out and spread all over their laps, and vampires turned as children that'll never grow up, and the lost and broken way that Ben looked when I beat him to a pulpy mess. I've even died-twice, now, in fact. But there are two really disturbing pictures in my head that I can't seem to shake no matter how hard I try. One of them is the image of my mom, lying there on the sofa, the way I found her that day. I'd really like to be able to forget that one. Giles says I need to give it time.  
  
The other is the image of Spike lying on the floor of his crypt where I found him-and it felt so much like my mom, so much like that nightmare all over again-with his eyes gouged right out of their sockets.  
  
I haven't thrown up in a really long time-again, not since my mom. Along with the Slayer strength comes this whole constitution-of-a-Clydesdale thing that I'm really grateful for, otherwise I'd be puking my guts out all the time, if not from the actual gore-aspects of the job, then from the stress of needing to save the world every five minutes. But it was a close one, that night. If it hadn't been for the adrenaline rush and the absolute, pure rage that I felt, I probably would have vomited all over him and then passed out cold right next to him.  
  
'Cause he was out cold, and that was most definitely of the good. If he'd been awake...if I'd had to watch him suffer like that all alone, I might have been tempted to stake him, just to put him out of his misery. Thank God, or Fate-or even the fucking bitch that did it to him-that he wasn't and I didn't.  
  
He couldn't have been lying there like that for very long...at least, that's what I keep telling myself. He says he doesn't remember, but sometimes I think he's lying.  
  
I hadn't seen him in two nights-maybe three-and I'd just stopped by to see if he wanted to patrol. No biggie, we did it all the time, at least once a week since my return from the great beyond. And to be honest, I'd wanted to talk to him about Dawn. Things with Dawn were not OK, and he always seemed to have a good perspective on that situation. Took the time to remind me what it was like to be young. Sometimes it feels like I haven't been young in a million years.  
  
So there I was, standing at the door of his crypt, thinking maybe I should knock. I never had before-not real sure if he would even hear me if I did, 'cause that door is pretty thick. And it was weird to even be considering it, since I usually just slam my way in. I've found that the confrontational approach works best with Spike, keeps him on his toes. But the door was open partway anyway, so I just gave it a push and went in.  
  
Blood. Puddles of it, all around him. Even in the dark, no candles burning, nothing but the moonbeams through the doorway, I could see the blood. And other stuff that I couldn't identify at the time. Not gonna dwell on that, though.  
  
He was facedown on the floor, so I didn't see at first. I knew something had attacked him and I knew it was probably bad, but after all, how bad could it be? He wasn't dust, so he wasn't dead, and anything else would heal, eventually. So I flipped him over.  
  
I screamed. Big. Big, noisy screaming from me.   
  
And then I gagged and turned away, 'cause looking at the mess that had been his face was not of the possible at that point.  
  
Don't know how long it took me to pull it together. Probably not more than twenty seconds or so. I'd like to think I'm pretty good in emergency situations, but ever since that day with my mom...  
  
I know. I keep coming back to that. Not sure why.  
  
I was afraid to move him by myself. I could have carried him, but to be honest, I just couldn't deal. I needed serious backup and I needed it fast and bless Giles for insisting on the whole cell phone deal.  
  
I sat by him and waited for the cavalry. He never moved a muscle the whole time and I was really, really glad. I sat there and thought about how bad I was going to tear into whatever had done this to him. I was gonna give it a big, large, tremendous hurt before I killed it. Really.  
  
I tried not to look at his face. I took one of his hands in mine and just looked at that. Funny, I never noticed that he had stopped painting his nails. And they were nibbled right down to the quick, but I don't remember ever seeing him bite them. Must be something he does when he's alone.  
  
I heard them coming and met them outside the door. Felt like I had to warn them. Giles went in first with the first aid kit. I heard him make a little sharp noise and then a deep sigh. I told Willow and Tara to wait and I followed him in.  
  
He was wrapping white gauze around Spike's head.  
  
"We'll have to take him with us. I can't tend to him properly here."  
  
I just stood there, watching, feeling that sick, helpless feeling that I remembered from when...well, you know.  
  
Willow and Tara came in then, and they began to gather up a few of his things and put them in his old duffel bag. His cigarettes and lighter were on the table by the chair. Tara opened a book that had been facedown on the tomb: The Complete Works of John Donne. She read from a marked page, "Busy old fool, unruly sun..." Then she closed it and put it in the bag with the other things.  
  
Willow looked around. "Seems like a lot of blood for just...you know, just his eyes."   
  
Giles glanced up at me. The bottom half of his body was still turned partway toward the floor. His left leg was bent at the knee and that covered the worst of it. When we moved his leg and turned him completely onto his back and got a really good look, we all just sort of...moaned.  
  
Giles cut his jeans off of him. I'm pleased to say that, unlike Tara and Willow, I didn't get dizzy and need to leave the crypt, but it was a near thing.  
  
There were...chunks...missing. Actual, bite-sized chunks of flesh. This is hard, really hard. Remembering this, I mean.   
  
Giles examined him. I had to look away, not just 'cause of the gore, but because he was naked from the waist down and it just seemed...I don't know-disrespectful? I know. That's just stupid. But he was so vulnerable, lying there like that, and I know I wouldn't want him ogling if it were me.  
  
After he was done bandaging what could be bandaged, Giles said, "Well, nothing...er...important looks to be missing, but these wounds are deep. It appears as if something tried to rip his...that is to say...Spike is very, very lucky."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Let's make sure and tell him how lucky he is, if he ever wakes up." That came out a lot snottier than I intended it. But Giles just looked at me and gave me kind of a weak smile.  
  
"He'll wake up, Buffy."  
  
"And that's a good thing?"  
  
He didn't answer me that time.  
  
Between the two of us, we carried him out of the crypt and were halfway to the cemetery gates when I remembered.   
  
"Wait! His coat! Willow...go back and get his duster..."  
  
"I...I don't think it's there. I looked around for it, but I didn't see it."  
  
We put him in Giles's car. I was tempted to go back myself and look for the coat, but while I was standing there considering it, Spike twitched.  
  
It was just once. His hand kind of jumped and jerked against his thigh, and that was all. But it scared me, 'cause I knew if he woke up then and there, we'd be in trouble.   
  
Wasn't very long before I realized that anyplace Spike woke up in that condition was a place of trouble.  
  
  
tbc 


	2. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 2

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 2  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers: It all belongs to Mutant Enemy.  
Summary: An alternative season 6 and 7.  
  
By the time we got him back to the house, he was twitching quite a bit. Looked like jolts of electricity were going through him, and every once in a while he let out a little snarl.  
  
"Buffy, it is absolutely unacceptable that he stay in your home. I appreciate that you feel compassion for him, but there is no reason to put yourself or Dawn in danger." We were sitting in the driveway, and Giles was trying to convince me one last time.  
  
"Spike would never hurt Dawn."   
  
"And you?"  
  
I was less sure about that. I knew that he thought he loved me. I knew he'd tried to prove it more than once. But I also knew that I tended to bring out the worst in him, and... My train of thought was interrupted by another, louder snarl, followed by a really pathetic moan.   
  
"It'll be OK. Besides, what're we supposed to do with him? It's not like we can just drop him off at the ER."  
  
"He could stay with me. He has in the past. When the Initiative-"  
  
"This is different. This isn't some stupid chip that gives him headaches. This is...he's going to need..." I stopped, because I realized that I didn't have a clue what he was going to need. But I was pretty sure that Giles-much as I love him-wouldn't be able to give it to him.  
  
"Are you sure?" He looked so worried. Like this might really be a problem, after my mom dropping dead on me, and a hell-god after my sister, and the world almost ending again, and death, and resurrection.  
  
"Yes. And besides, it'll make Dawn feel all grown up if I let her take care of him." Spike stiffened in the seat. I watched as his fangs appeared and he growled and groaned and kicked at the floor of the car. I looked at Giles. "Well, maybe not right away."  
  
His body stilled and the fangs went away. We took advantage of the moment and got him into the house just as Willow and Tara drove up.  
  
We put him on the sofa.  
  
"Buffy..."  
  
"I know, Giles. Will, could you go get a piece of clothesline out of the basement?" I hated to do it, but I knew I had to. We tied his hands together and then his feet.   
  
Giles removed the bandages from his eyes and started to clean him up. Right about then, Dawn came downstairs. I met her in the hall and blocked her view of the living room.  
  
"What's going on?" She tried to look past me.  
  
"Spike had...an accident. He's hurt. It's bad." She tried to push past me and I caught her by the arms.  
  
"Let Giles finish cleaning him up, then you can see him, OK?" There must have been something in the way I said it that made her stop and look at me again. Then Spike let out the loudest, nastiest snarl yet.   
  
"Buffy!" Giles sounded like he was having trouble.   
  
I spun Dawn around and gave her a push toward the kitchen. Then I went into the living room, but I had to force myself to do it.  
  
Spike was thrashing on the sofa, and Giles was doing his best to hold him down and failing fast. I grabbed Spike's shoulders and pushed him back on the cushions, getting a really good look at his face.  
  
They were gone.  
  
Those blue-bluer-bluest eyes, all sparkly and full of trouble. Gone. In their place were two bloody pits covered by bruised and swollen lids.  
  
Willow and Tara came in from the kitchen. Tara turned right around and left again, and I didn't blame her a bit. Willow stood next to me and put her hand on my arm, which helped a little.  
  
Spike quit thrashing and fell back. His face went slack and his mouth fell open.  
  
"Are...I mean...will they...grow back?" I was glad Will had the strength to ask the question, 'cause I sure didn't.  
  
Giles cleared his throat. "My understanding is that they will...regenerate...in much the same way his spine healed after..." His voice trailed off.  
  
"After I dropped the organ on him. It's OK. That's actually a good memory. He deserved it. But he didn't deserve this."  
  
Giles continued. "But it will take time, particularly if the optic nerve was damaged."   
  
I held Spike against the cushions until Giles was finished cleaning and re-bandaging the wounds. When he turned his attentions to the injuries below Spike's waist, I decided I'd had enough for a few minutes. I went into the kitchen and sat at the table with Dawn.  
  
"How bad?" She looked scared and I could hear big fear in her voice.  
  
"Bad. But Giles says it'll heal."  
  
"Who did it?"  
  
"I don't know. We'll have to ask him when he-" Willow let out a little shriek and I was out of my chair and in the living room in under two seconds.  
  
They were doing their best to hold him, but Spike wasn't having it. He was awake. He howled and roared and swore and fought, which actually made me feel a little better. This I could deal with.  
  
Giles had removed the bandages from around his hips and abdomen. Every time Spike thrashed against the sofa, fresh blood gushed. I yelled over my shoulder at Dawn, telling her to stay in the kitchen. Then I grabbed him and threw him down. I straddled his chest and pulled his hands up over his head and leaned down to talk right into his ear.  
  
"Spike, it's OK." What a liar. "It's gonna be OK. Just hold still and let us help you-"  
  
He stilled suddenly. "Slayer?" His voice was a rumble, but at least it was him. I was afraid the demon wouldn't let go long enough to let him hear me.  
  
"Why can't I see? It hurts, Slayer. My eyes...and my...my belly..." His voice became more human with every word he said, and all of a sudden, that was worse. All of a sudden, there were tears in my eyes.  
  
"Shhh...it's all right. You...you were hurt. But we're gonna clean you up and stop the bleeding. You're gonna be OK." I was almost crooning it to him.  
  
"How bad?" Big fear, just like Dawn. And I knew if I didn't answer right away...  
  
"How bad, Slayer?" His voice had changed again, gotten growly and insistent.  
  
"Pretty bad."  
  
The tension drained out of him and his head fell back. I let go of his wrists and he brought his hands down to rest against me.  
  
"Why am I tied up?"  
  
"We were afraid you might...you know...hurt yourself or-"  
  
"Somebody else?" Just a little flicker of a smile. I reached up and touched his cheek below the bandages. Don't know why. Just felt like the right thing to do.  
  
"Giles is going to finish cleaning and bandaging your...lower half, and then I'll untie you."  
  
He nodded and licked his lower lip. I actually had to fight the urge to kiss him then, as if there wasn't enough wiggins-worthy stuff happening for one night.   
  
Giles had gone back to work on him and I felt him tense up again. I reached out and held on tight to his upper arms to keep him still. It must have hurt big-time, but he never said so.  
  
When Giles was done I climbed off and untied him. Willow had found a blanket somewhere and covered him to his waist. I went into the kitchen and found Dawn.  
  
Her head was resting on her arms and she was almost asleep, but when I told her she could see Spike, she was out of the chair like a shot.  
  
"Niblet? That you?" I heard him greet her. I heard her start to cry. Seemed like a good idea, so I sat down in the chair she'd just vacated and bawled my brains out for about five minutes.   
  
When I finally pulled it together, Tara was sitting across from me. She held out her hand and I took it. She didn't say anything, which was cool. Tara gets it.  
  
Giles came in and sat with us. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "He seems to be holding up well enough. Better than I would have expected, in fact."  
  
"Did you...did you tell him?"  
  
"He was rather insistent about it. Threatened to shove the bandages...well, at any rate, yes, I told him about his eyes and his...other injuries. I couldn't give him a prognosis about any of it. As I said before, it will depend on the extent of the nerve damage."  
  
"He should have blood, shouldn't he?" It was the first time Tara had spoken since we left the crypt. "I mean, won't that help him heal?"  
  
"Oh, god...I never even thought of that...and it's so late. Where are we going to get blood tonight?"  
  
We looked at one another. I stood up and walked over to the silverware drawer and took out a paring knife. Then I grabbed a mug out of the cupboard. Willow came into the room just as I sliced into my wrist.  
  
"Dawn's asleep on the floor in there and...OH!" Her eyes were round, but just for a second. Then she was rolling up her sleeve.  
  
We took turns, and between the four of us, it was enough to fill the mug.   
  
"I'll stop by Willy's tomorrow and buy a few pints. He should have the good stuff for a few days 'til he's stronger."   
  
Giles finished bandaging us, and then I bandaged him. It was a big night for white gauze on Revello Drive.  
  
He didn't say much when I brought him the mug. Just turned his sightless face toward us with a strange little smile. "Ta, mates. 'Preciate it."  
  
Giles left then, and Willow and Tara helped me drag Dawn up to bed. Then it was just the two of us, with about three hours left until sunrise. I sat down on the floor next to the sofa and stared up at him.  
  
"Whatcha gapin' at, pet?" I started to say that I wasn't, but he stopped me. "I can feel your eyes on me, Slayer. 'S'OK. Look all you like." He turned his face toward the window and I saw his hand tighten around the mug.  
  
"Spike."  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"Tell you what, luv?" He was trying to sound innocent and casual. I wasn't buying it.  
  
"Tell me who did this to you."  
  
He was quiet for a long time. I didn't push him. I had this feeling-call it Slayer's intuition-that if I pressed him, he'd clam up and never tell. So I waited.  
  
Finally, he turned his face toward me and in a voice that I would have bet my life I'd never hear from the Big Bad-a voice so broken and full of misery and hurt and betrayal-he said it.   
  
"Drusilla."  
  
I couldn't answer right away. Looking back, of course, it made perfect sense. But at that moment, I had a hard time wrapping my mind around it.  
  
And then I saw that blood had begun to seep from under the bandages over his eyes. He was crying and there were no tear ducts, so he was bleeding instead.  
  
I crawled up next to him and wrapped my arms around his head and held him there. He never made another sound. I held him until it was time to close the drapes to block the sunlight. Then I lay down on the floor next to the sofa and we slept.  
  
tbc 


	3. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 3

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 3  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R   
Disclaimer, etc: See previous chapters.  
  
"Let's see if I've got this straight. You don't want me to hunt her down and stake her because it wasn't her fault? Is that what you're saying?"  
  
"Yeah. That's what I'm sayin'." His face was turned away from me. He had refused to fully face anyone since he'd awakened late that afternoon. He was turned to the window. I don't know if he realized that the drapes were closed.  
  
"She scratched your eyes out and chewed on you like a rabid dog. How is that not her fault?" The conversation was surreal.  
  
"Just leave it, Slayer. Let it go."  
  
"I don't think so, Spike. And I think it's disgusting that you still want to protect her. Gross and pathetic." Wow. That sounded way nastier than I intended it. And I made him flinch. Good girl, Buff. Why stop at insults? Why not go ahead and slap the blind vamp around a little?  
  
I took a very deep breath and pulled a chair up next to the sofa. I was thinking that maybe if I got closer, made some contact, he'd open up a little, explain himself. Works with Dawn. Sometimes.  
  
Wasn't gonna work with Spike. He turned further away, pressing his body into the back of the sofa. I almost gave up. I took a final shot and touched his arm.   
  
"Spike, explain it. Make me understand."  
  
The muscle in his jaw twitched. I moved my hand away and it stopped. OK, touching him was out. I didn't know where to go from there. I was about to stand up and walk away when he started talking.  
  
"Not her fault-my fault. The whole bleedin' lot of it. From the first time I brought her here, I knew this was a bad place for her. Shoulda turned right 'round an' left again, but I thought..." He started pounding on his thigh with his fist, too close to where he'd been hurt, which made him twist up in pain, which made the blanket slip off.   
  
I'd forgotten he was naked under there. I pulled the blanket up around his hips and then I patted his thigh where he had punched it. I did it before I thought about it. When I think about it now, I'm pretty sure I meant it in a comforting way.  
  
He froze when I did it. I know he couldn't have been turned on. No way, not with all the pain he was in and besides, he hadn't healed enough. Not that there was anything actually missing. I mean, from what I could see when I looked. Which I only did for, like, a second.  
  
"Ancient history, Spike. And it still doesn't explain why it's your fault that she mutilated you like this."  
  
"I provoked her."  
  
"How?"  
  
He sighed a snarly little sigh. "You're not gonna bloody let up, are you?"  
  
"I'm going to dust her if you don't give me a good reason not to."  
  
He reached up like he was going to run his hand over his face. When his fingers touched the bandages, he jumped and hissed, as if he'd been burnt.  
  
"Fine. You wanna hear it so bad? It went like this, you bossy bitch. Dru pops up in my crypt just after sundown...last night?" He sounded unsure. "What day is it? Never mind. Anyway, she's all 'Hello, lover. Just got into town. Fancy a shag?' "  
  
"You didn't. Tell me you didn't." I was revolted.  
  
"No." He paused. Then: "Not straight away. But she was persistent. Crawlin' all over me. Sayin' she loved me. NOT sayin' I was disgustin'."  
  
Ouch.  
  
"So I let her. An' she was...she likes to...bloody hell, you've seen where the wounds are. Do the soddin' math."  
  
Oh. That.  
  
"But that still doesn't explain-"  
  
He turned on me with a growl. "I said the wrong thing at the wrong time, Slayer."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The wrong name. I said the wrong name."   
  
I still wasn't following.   
  
"Oh, for pity's sake, Buffy, do I have to draw you a bleedin' diagram? At the critical moment-at the apex of the experience, so to speak-when there should have been nothin' in my soddin' brain but my dark princess and no name on my tongue but Drusilla's, I made the shameful and unforgivable mistake of callin' out yours. Now, do you get it, or must I use crude language?"  
  
Gulp. Understanding dawned all rosy and bright and I was really glad he couldn't see my face.  
  
"Oh. And she...?"  
  
"Didn't take it well. Last thing I remember was kickin' like a mule to get her off me. She must have clocked me a right good one before she..." He gestured toward his face.  
  
I was quiet for a few seconds. Then I said, "But that's still no reason to say it's your fault. She's out of control, Spike. I gotta take her out. You know it."  
  
He didn't answer, just twisted up his hands in the blanket.   
  
"Are my fags about, Slayer?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah. They're around here somewhere." I found the duffel next to the sofa and fished them out. I thought about telling him that since I didn't allow smoking in the house, this would be a good time to quit. But I didn't.  
  
I handed him the cigarettes and lighter. I was going to offer to help him, but he lit up without a fumble and took a deep drag. Then his head dropped back and he just lay there.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well, what?"  
  
"You understand why I have to do this?"  
  
He shrugged and took another drag. "Can't bloody well stop you, can I? Can only ask nicely." He turned his face toward me. I stared at where his eyes used to be. "Don't kill her on account of me. Please." His voice sounded dead in my ears.   
  
I thought about it for a few minutes. When I answered him, I knew it was wrong and against everything I was supposed to be about. The Chosen One and all that crap.  
  
"I won't track her. If she's smart enough to stay out of my way..." I let it hang in the air.  
  
He nodded.  
  
I stood up to leave the room.   
  
"Slayer?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Don't thank me yet, Spike. I really don't think she's that smart. Do you?"  
  
He didn't answer. I left him alone, then. I had some stuff to think about. 


	4. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 4

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 4  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
I won't lie to you-the first week was hard. Having him around, especially in the condition he was in, made me seriously jumpy.   
  
We were surrounded by helpers. Giles came in twice a day to change the bandages. I refused to watch after the first time. He said Spike was healing fast, but I didn't want to see his face uncovered until there were actual, real eyes there, in the places they used to be. As for the other injuries, I didn't ask, but I assumed they were mending.  
  
Willow worked a healing spell, figuring it couldn't hurt, and whipped up treats like blood-soaked Weetabix and hot chocolate like my mom used to make.   
  
Tara came and read to him every day-mostly stuff out of that book of poetry she'd found in the crypt.  
  
Even Xander and Anya stopped over a few times. Xander was uncomfortable around Spike. I could tell by the way he didn't insult him. Didn't stop Spike from riding Xander, though. In fact, I think Xander's being nice to him just pissed him off.  
  
Dawn spent a lot of time with him. They sat in front of the TV together with the volume turned up loud, and she described the action for him. She was also the one who washed the dried blood out of his hair, and gelled and combed it for him He saved his best smiles for her.  
  
For me, there were no smiles. Especially after he asked for his coat, and I had to tell him it was missing.   
  
"Missin'? How could it be missin'? Did you let someone nick it, then?"  
  
"We didn't LET anything happen to it. It wasn't in the crypt. We looked."  
  
"Look again, Slayer. It's got to be there." No 'please', no 'if it's not too much trouble'.   
  
On my way out the door he hollered after me. "Don't come back without it, Slayer."  
  
I stood in the middle of the crypt for a long time, just staring. She'd been back. Everything that Spike owned-TV, furniture, fridge, bedding, spare clothes, books, CD player and discs, all of it-had been destroyed. This bitch was on a mission. Looked like she used her bare hands and fangs on most of it. Made me big with the gladness that Spike hadn't still been laying there on the floor when she showed up for round two.  
  
And no duster. Not even any shredded leather. It was gone, and I knew where. Or at least who. Maybe I'd have to track her, after all. Just to get the coat back, of course.  
  
When I came back without it, he wouldn't speak to me. I didn't tell him about his stuff, or where I thought the duster had gone.   
  
That also happened to be the day we decided to get him off the sofa and into the bathtub. He'd been wearing a pair of Xander's old sweats for five days at that point, and the living room was beginning to smell kinda funky.  
  
Giles had gotten rid of the bandages on his lower half. The wounds were fully closed and even the scars were fading. But I could tell by the stiff way he moved when we helped him up the stairs that he was sore, and probably nervous, too.  
  
I'd laid everything out for him-washcloth, soap, towels. I explained in detail the layout of the bathroom and where everything was. He listened with this really intense frown on his face, as if he were trying to picture it in his head. Then I went in ahead of him and turned on the water. Dawn led him in and left him there. I reminded him how important it was to keep the water away from the dressings on his face, and then I left, too.  
  
Well, that isn't completely true. I waited outside in the hallway, with the door open just a crack. I mean, I couldn't just leave him there. What if he slipped and fell?   
  
I listened to the splashy sound of him settling himself in the water. Then I looked in, just for a second.   
  
Wow. Skirt-girl was right. And that's all I'm gonna say about that, at least for now.  
  
Afterwards, when he was back on the sofa in clean sweats and a t-shirt, he turned to me. I'm assuming he knew Dawn wasn't in the room at that point.  
  
"See anything you fancied, Slayer?"  
  
I should have known he could hear me, or smell me, or whatever. Funny, it didn't really bother me. Maybe 'cause I couldn't see his eyes, dancing and laughing at me. Maybe for some other reason, but I was SO not going there.  
  
It was only a few days later that Giles announced it: Spike's eyes were restored. At least, the physical fact of them. He was still blind. Apparently, the whole nerve damage thing was an issue.  
  
Everybody gathered for the unveiling. I was really nervous-I can't imagine how Spike must have felt. Looking back, I can't believe he let us stand around and watch. I guess he figured he didn't have a choice at that point, and he was right. None of us would have missed it.  
  
I remember hanging out in the back of the living room, kind of jumping around from one foot to the other while Giles unwound the bandages. Dawn grabbed me by the arm to make me stand still.  
  
When Giles took away the little cotton pads that covered his eyelids, I almost walked out. I couldn't stand the suspense. Would they be the same? The same color, the same expression? And why did I care so much, anyway?  
  
Giles stood up and backed away. Spike's eyelids fluttered a little, then opened.   
  
Everyone was smiling. He had eyes, and in all the right places. Nice, round, real eyes, just where they should be. And the same color blue, too. Yeah, everybody was just grinning away and making happy little congratulatory remarks, but Spike didn't seem to be listening.  
  
"Slayer?"  
  
I stepped forward. "Yes, Spike?"  
  
"Is it...is it all right, then?"  
  
"Yeah, Spike. It's all right." Except that it wasn't. And I couldn't believe that nobody but me could see it. Those eyes, yeah, they were round and blue and definitely there, but they were empty. No humor. No anger. No lust. I thought my gut was going to rip in two, but I had to lie to him.  
  
He wasn't satisfied by my answer, but he didn't push it. And all I could think was: 'please, let that bitch wander into my path.' 'Cause I was gonna visit some serious revenge on her for this-for taking away all the worlds of feeling Spike expressed with his eyes. For making him feel and act helpless. For putting him in the position of having to depend on us, on me.  
  
Strange how just a couple of years ago, when he got himself chipped and had to come to us for help, I was glad. Glad to see him brought so low, knocked off his way-too-high horse, made all humble. Now, it drove me crazy. I wanted to shake him and yell at him and force him to be like he used to be.  
  
'Cause I was really scared that we'd seen the last of the Big Bad. And I just couldn't take that. Not when I'd just started to realize...what? That I do need a little monster in my man, after all?   
  
All of that stuff just flooded my brain all at once when I was standing there looking into those dead blue eyes, and suddenly I just wasn't dealing. I ran out of the room like it was on fire, and then out of the house. I could hear Dawn calling after me, but I didn't stop.  
  
I needed to kill something. With any luck at all, she would be waiting for me.  
  
tbc 


	5. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 5

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 5  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
  
"I don't care WHAT you say! I'm going. You can't stop me. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER!" **SLAM**  
  
I should have gone after her and made her come back to the house. I knew that if I let her get away with it once...but I just didn't seem to be the ball of energy I usually was at seven in the evening. Imagine that.  
  
I dragged myself into the living room and sat down. Spike was listening to the TV-some cop show. He turned the volume down when I came in.  
  
I'd been avoiding him for days-ever since he lost the bandages. I never did come home that night. I stayed out, hunting for Drusilla, the big, determined Slayer. Was gonna stake her bad. Except she never showed-not at his crypt or anywhere else. And since there hadn't been any slaughters that were marked by her particular brand of loony, I guessed she skipped town. Smarter than I thought.  
  
So I'd gone on a little rampage of my own, taking out fledgling nests right and left, routing the vamp-whore houses, and scouring the sewers for demons that didn't even feed on humans. Wish I could say it helped.  
  
I made excuses to stay away from the house, leaving Dawn to tend Spike. Not a very cool thing to do, though they didn't seem to mind it. Except on that evening Dawn had made plans. Plans she hadn't bothered to clear with me. I'd wanted to patrol, but she had a screaming fit and...**SLAM**  
  
So there I was, sitting in the living room with Spike, wishing I could go out and kill something, but feeling like I couldn't leave him alone.  
  
"You know, Slayer, I don't need a sitter." The first words he'd spoken to me in days.  
  
"I know that, Spike. But..."  
  
"But what?"  
  
"It just seems wrong to leave you alone. Besides, I could use a night off."  
  
I sat there, staring at the muted TV screen.   
  
"What's wrong, Buffy?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Bugger 'nothin.' I can hear you poutin' from over here."  
  
"I'm not pouting. I'm brooding. It's a whole different vibe." That got a smile.  
  
"Bad habit, pet. Pick it up from Peaches?"  
  
My turn to smile. "Yeah, maybe."  
  
More quiet.   
  
"What am I going to do about her, Spike? I can't seem to get through at all."  
  
He didn't answer right away. Seemed to be giving the matter serious consideration, which was so different from his usual line of sarcasm that it made me sit up and pay attention.  
  
"You're tryin' too hard, Slayer. Gotta know when to ease up. Pick your battles."  
  
Not what I wanted to hear. Wanted to hear that I was doing what had to be done and Dawn was just a spoiled brat who didn't know how good she had it.  
  
"Right. Like I'd take parenting advice from you." Now who was the spoiled brat? And snarky, too.  
  
"You did ask, pet."  
  
"Yeah. Sorry."  
  
Quiet. Stupid, stupid quiet.  
  
"She's got herself a fellow, you know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yeah. Name of Ricky. Came 'round to see her yesterday. Seems a likely enough little whelp, but then, I couldn't check him out properly. Smelled OK, though. Called me 'sir'."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Don't know. Couple weeks, maybe."  
  
"She didn't say anything."  
  
"You've been preoccupied. My fault." He sighed. "Which brings me to what I've been meanin' to tell you. Time's come for me to be clearin' out. Don't fancy bein' a burden on you-you've enough on your plate."  
  
"Spike, don't be an idiot. You can't leave."  
  
"Can't I? An' why's that?" His voice was mellow, but I could sense the edge underneath.   
  
"You're in no shape to be on your own. And you won't be-maybe not for months. Giles says-"  
  
"Sod that! I can bloody well take care of myself, Slayer, an' that pansy-arsed Watcher of yours can-"  
  
"Careful, Spike. Giles is just trying to help-"  
  
"I don't need his soddin' help. Or yours, for that matter. A lift to my crypt, that's all I bloody well need. Not even that, if you'd just point me in the right direction."  
  
"Yeah, right. Like you'd survive ten minutes out there alone, walking into walls and tripping over headstones. Maybe we could get you one of those little red and white canes, or-I know!-a seeing-eye-dog!" I was trying to distract him from the subject of his crypt. I had killed something in the neighborhood of thirty demons in the past seventy-two hours, but I didn't have the guts to tell him that all his stuff was trashed.  
  
"Sod off, you stupid, heartless bitch."   
  
Whoa. The words were bad enough, but if you could have heard the tone...  
  
He was standing up, stumbling around, looking for something.  
  
"Sit down, Spike, before you hurt yourself. What're you looking for, anyway?"  
  
"My bleedin' boots! Where are they, Slayer? Tell me, or I swear, I'll-" He tripped over the coffee table and would have fallen if I hadn't caught him.  
  
He fought me, which activated the chip, which made him grab his head and moan. What a fun, fun evening. And it was still early.  
  
I pushed him back onto the sofa. He popped up again, growling. I knocked him back and sat on him.  
  
"Look, you moron, you can't go back to your crypt. You aren't ready to be on your own yet."  
  
"I don't give a flyin' fuck WHAT you say! I'm OUT of here, Slayer, an' you can do bugger-all to stop me! YOU'RE NOT MY KEEPER!" All that was missing was the **SLAM** and only because I was straddling him. I tried not to laugh.  
  
"No. Forget it. It's not happening."  
  
He was quiet for a few seconds. Then he tried a different approach. I love it when he does the charming thing.   
  
"Buffy, listen to me. I have everythin' I could ever ask for in my crypt. Yeah, sure, I might need some assistance now and again if I expect to eat properly, but we can work that out. There's just no need for me to hang about here any longer. It's not right." His voice had gone all soft and persuasive. I almost gave in. He's that good.  
  
And then I had to tell him.   
  
When I finally made him understand that there was nothing left to go back to-that his crypt just wasn't home anymore-I felt him give up. He just kinda slumped down into the cushions and hung his head.   
  
God, I felt so bad. Like, serious sympathy and I KNEW how much he would hate that. So I tried the confrontational approach-you know, the one that always worked so well in the past?  
  
"Come on, Spike, get over it. It's just stuff. Quit feeling sorry for yourself."  
  
No response.  
  
"Wallow much, Blondie? It isn't pretty on you."  
  
Nothing.  
  
"GET A FREAKIN' GRIP, WILLIAM!"  
  
Bingo!  
  
"What the bleedin' hell do YOU know about it? You an' your tasteful little house with all the creature comforts...that STUFF, as you call it, was all I had in the BLOODY, SODDIN' UNIVERSE-"  
  
Not really sure what made me do it, but I think it was the change I saw in his eyes when he finally lost the last shred of his temper. They went from blue to gold in a flash. It was the first time they looked alive to me, and it gave me a huge happy to see it.   
  
So I kissed him. Seemed perfectly logical at the time.  
  
tbc 


	6. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 6

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 6  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
  
I don't know exactly what I expected to happen. I mean, the last time I kissed him I was pretending to be Skirt Girl, and he just sat there and stared at me when he realized that I was the real deal. And it was a brief thing, a thank-you-for-not-caving-under-agonizing-torture-and-spilling-the-beans-about-my-sister-The-Key kind of kiss. Not that there wasn't real emotion behind it...just that the emotion was gratitude and not...not what? Affection? Attraction? Desire? Hell, let's go the whole nine yards and call it lust.  
  
All of that was going through my head as I kissed him. And then nothing was going through my head as I kissed him, 'cause he tasted like moonlight and starshine and his lips were cool and milky like french vanilla pudding pops and-ewww, where did THAT image come from? guess I was horny AND hungry-and his tongue was rough and slick at the same time and--   
  
Anyway, I don't know what I was expecting, but it most definitely wasn't what he did, which was push me off his lap and onto the floor.   
  
Then he was up and fumbling around for his boots again.  
  
"Oh, for God's sake, Spike, your stupid boots aren't even in here. They're in the hall closet. But it doesn't matter, 'cause you're not going anywhere. You may as well get used to it, too, 'cause I'm not above tying you up again if I have to."  
  
He stuck his fingers in his hair and pulled at it. Then he kicked in the general direction of the coffee table, missing it completely. Then he sat down again.  
  
"Spike-"  
  
"Sorry, Slayer. Didn't mean to-"   
  
"Yeah, what was that about? I mean, I thought..." What was I going to say? 'I thought you loved me?' 'I thought you'd jump at the chance to get in my pants?'   
  
It dawned on me that maybe he'd moved on. Gotten over me. Left me in the dust. I guess I was expecting him to wait...what, forever? Suddenly my brain was channeling Cordelia-'jeez, Buffy, ego much?'  
  
"Never mind. It doesn't matter."  
  
"Buffy-"  
  
"No, really, I get it. I told you to get lost one too many times, right? Called you names and laughed at you and now I'm surprised you don't want me anymore. Not a problem, Spike. At least, not YOUR problem."  
I was babbling and backing out of the room at the same time.  
  
"It's not like that, pet."  
  
I stopped. "So what's it like, then?"  
  
He didn't answer. He just covered his face with his hands and growled.  
  
"Look, Spike, like I said, I get it. No further explanations necessary. But if you don't mind, I think I'll just go to my room now. Got some big humiliation to process-"  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I can't."  
  
"You can't kiss me?"  
  
"Right. I mean, yes, I can kiss you, but-"  
  
"You don't want to."  
  
"No, I DO want to. I just can't...I mean, I CAN, but then, I can't...do...anything else."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
His blank, blind eyes were turned on me with this really intense, pleading look. Pleading for what, I didn't know.  
  
"It doesn't work. Hasn't worked since...Drusilla."  
  
Ooooooh. Oh, man.   
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"Yeah. Still here. Just trying to-"  
  
"Keep from laughin'?"  
  
"No! Of course not! Why would you think-"  
  
"Wouldn't blame you. Right pathetic, I know. Bad enough to be chipped-now I can't bite, can't see, can't even..." He leaned back and pressed the heals of his hands against his eyes and started banging the back of his head against the window molding behind the sofa.  
  
I sat down next to him and slipped my hand behind his head to cushion it. He froze.  
  
"Relax, Spike. I'm not going to molest you. Now, tell me how you know that it doesn't...um...work."  
  
"How the bloody hell do you THINK I know?" He stopped banging, but he kept his face covered.  
  
"You mean you've tried to...I mean...well, I guess you ARE alone a lot..." I was surprised that the image of Spike sitting around in the middle of our living room playing with himself didn't give me a major wiggins. In fact, I found myself storing said image away for future contemplation. But, first things first.  
  
He was saying, "Well, yes, there's that-but the real give-away is you, Slayer. My reaction to you. Or lack of reaction."  
  
"Huh?" I say that a lot, don't I?  
  
"Time was, I got fully...alert...just from the passin' scent of your hair. Now, you climb in my lap an' stick your tongue down my throat an'-nothin'."  
  
I took a moment to enjoy the idea that Spike got turned on by the way my hair smelled.  
  
"Nothing? Are you sure?"  
  
He snorted.  
  
I climbed back into his lap, my legs on either side of him. I pulled his hands away from his eyes and ran my fingers over his forehead and cheekbones.  
  
"Does that feel nice?" He didn't answer, just nuzzled his face into my palm and made a humming sound.  
  
"I think we should ask Giles about this."  
  
"Crikey, Slayer, why not take out an advert in the bloody morning paper?" His tone wasn't as snarky as his words, probably because I was running my hands through his hair and down over his neck and shoulders.  
  
"Giles is very discreet. And I'll bet he can help." I pulled him close and started licking a spot behind his left ear. He shuddered once and wrapped his arms around me. I wiggled against him, searching for...nope, he was right. Nothing.   
  
But I was getting pretty worked up.  
  
"Why, Buffy?"  
  
"Why, what?"  
  
"Why do you care? And why this sudden display of...of... Are you feelin' sorry for me?" His tone was suspicious. Not that I could blame him.  
  
"Nope. I mean, yeah, I do feel bad, but that's not the big why."  
  
"What is it, then?"  
  
I stopped moving and held him tight, thinking hard for a few seconds.  
  
"It's weird, and way ironic. Right about the same time you got blinded, all of sudden I...I..."  
  
"Saw the light?"   
  
"Pretty corny, Bleach Boy. But accurate."  
  
"Well, that's all right, then. 'Cause when the time comes, I'll have no use for an Angel of Mercy. I'll want a Slayer."  
  
"A particular Slayer? Or will just any one do?"  
  
"That bint's still in the lock-up, yes?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Then I guess you'll have to do." The only thing that kept me from punching him was how much I'd missed that evil smile. I only wished his eyes would sparkle like they used to.   
  
I jumped off of him when the front door slammed.  
  
"Hi, Dawnie. Back so soon?"  
  
She gave me a dirty look and plopped down into a chair next to Spike. She picked up the remote and turned the volume up loud. I opened my mouth to say something, then remembered what Spike had said about choosing my battles. I patted her on the head as I left the room. She ignored me.  
  
"Where're you goin', Slayer?"  
  
"To call Giles." I saw him flinch. But it had to be done. We had to get his little problem fixed, like, yesterday. For Spike's sake, of course.   
  
As for me, well, I could be patient. Patience is a virtue. And that's what I'm all about. Patience and virtue.  
  
Why are you laughing?  
  
tbc 


	7. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 7

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 7  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
It's not like I was looking forward to telling Giles about this. I mean, come on. Imagine his reaction.  
  
I decided not to call after all. This was more of a face-to-face kind of conversation. So I went over there. He was all mellow, listening to music, drinking brandy. Perfect timing.  
  
"I don't understand what makes this our concern, Buffy. Spike's... errrr...difficulties...are hardly a number-one priority at this time-or any time, for that matter." He gave me one of those piercing glances he's so good at and took a sip of his drink. "Furthermore...how did this topic of conversation even come up between you...errrrmm...so to speak?"  
  
I ignored the second part of his question and hoped he wouldn't notice. "I feel like we owe him, Giles. What he did last spring and then all summer while I was...gone-working next to you guys, helping you out... I just think we oughta do what we can." OK, that sounded lame even to me, and I couldn't look him in the eye.  
  
"I'm not a physician, Buffy."  
  
"I know. I guess there's no such thing as a demon urologist, is there?"  
  
"Well, as a matter of fact...but he practices in Finland, and I would leave that as a last resort, if I were you. His preferred method of payment is in-"  
  
"Too much information, Giles. But I'll keep it in mind."  
  
"At any rate, I doubt Spike's problem is physical in nature. His wounds were deep, but I observed nothing that would cause serious, lasting damage, even in a human."  
  
"So what's the what?"  
  
"I suspect his trouble is psychological. You must understand, Buffy, that male virility is very much bound up in the individual's sense of identity. Spike has been brought low on many levels. He cannot hunt or feed. He's lost his sight and his home, and is forced to rely upon the very person who SHOULD be his worst enemy. There's very little left of the Master Vampire we all knew and despised...er...we all knew."  
  
"So what are you telling me? He needs a shrink?"  
  
"I doubt whether William the Bloody would sit still long enough to be analyzed. He possesses neither the introspective nature nor the patience necessary for it."  
  
"Then what's the fix?"  
  
"Must there be one?" He looked very tired.  
  
"Giles."  
  
"Right. You'll pardon me if I have trouble with the imagery this entire scenario creates."  
  
"Try not to think about it."  
  
He walked over to his shelves and pulled out two heavy books. Psychology texts.  
  
"Take these. Study the chapters on psychosexual dysfunction. I'm afraid that's all I can offer."  
  
"Thanks." I took the books from him. "I'll get them back to you as soon as-"  
  
"Buffy."  
  
I looked at him and he looked at me, and I knew he knew.  
  
"Please be careful. I know I don't have to remind you what happened the last time you became...involved...with a demon."  
  
"Giles, I-"  
  
He held up his hand to stop me. Then he turned away and poured himself some more brandy.  
  
I left, feeling not great. Next stop, Willow's.  
  
She wasn't quite as wigged, but I could tell she was worried.  
  
"Are you sure, Buffy? I mean, you know I like Spike. He's been great lately, acting all hero-y, and helping save the world and everything. But you already did the vamp-lover thing once, and..."  
  
"Yeah. I know. But that was the then and this is the now. And Spike's not Angel. And I'm not the person I was, either."  
  
"Well, OK, if you're sure."  
  
"Oh, I'm not sure. Not even inside the city limits of sure, but maybe in the same county."  
  
She smiled at me, and I knew it was OK.  
  
"I can do a few different things, spells and charms and stuff, but maybe you'd better try the psychological approach first. I mean, it's less dangerous all around, don't you think?"  
  
I laughed at her. "Afraid you'll turn something important into a toad by mistake, Will?"  
  
"I'm thinking more big old slimy salamander."  
  
So I went home and read the books, which should prove my commitment to the restoration of Spike's manhood. Trouble was, they contradicted each other. One said you had to explain to the subject that he was just giving himself bad psycho-mojo, and then let him work it out for himself. The other one said you had to be sneaky and overcome the subject's feelings of inadequacy by convincing him that he da bomb.  
  
I decided to go for sneaky.  
  
I waited 'til Dawn was asleep. Spike was still sitting where I left him a few hours before, sipping on a mug of something-blood? hot chocolate?-and flipping back and forth between Leno and Letterman.  
  
"I would have thought you'd go for Howard Stern."  
  
"Yeah, well, it's not the same when ya can't see the digitally censored boobies. 'Though I do fancy listenin' to a good spankin' now an' again."  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Slayer?"  
  
"Have I ever told you how good-looking you are?"  
  
"Mmmm...not that I can rightly recall."  
  
"Well, you are. You're, like, the best-looking guy I know. Hotter than Angel, even."  
  
He snorted. "An' I don't need to work half so bleedin' hard at it, either." He looked pleased, but puzzled.  
  
I wandered over to the sofa, trying to look casual. I guess it really didn't matter how I looked at that point, but gimme a break, I was nervous.  
  
"Plus, you're smart. I bet you know about all kinds of stuff that I've never even heard of."  
  
His eyebrow went up. "Merely a function of longevity. Is there a point, luv?"  
  
"And you're so strong and...and brave. I feel so much safer just knowing that you're in the house." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I'd gone too far.  
  
"Right. You. The Chosen One. Feel safer. Because of me. The blind, chipped, impotent vampire that needs a nursemaid to lead him to the loo."  
  
Uh-oh. "Spike, you don't even use the-" OK, not the point, Buffy.   
  
"What're you playin' at, Slayer?"  
  
"Nothing. Can't I just tell you how...how attractive and...and desirable I find you?" All of a sudden I realized that I sounded just like Skirt Girl.  
  
Great minds think alike. He reached out and grabbed my hand-it was eerie how he didn't even fumble, knew just where it was-and ran his fingers over the skin. Then he squinted up at me.   
  
"You wanna let me in on the joke, Buffy?"  
  
"No joke, Spike. I'm not expressing it very well, but you know I like you. More than like you. You knew it before I did."  
  
He didn't answer. He dropped my hand and folded his arms across his chest and did that big scowly-face he's so good at.   
  
"What are you thinking?"  
  
"I'm thinkin' the Powers must truly despise me, handin' me the only bleedin' thing I want when I can do bugger-all about it. A special kind of torture reserved just for me...an' Peaches."  
  
Wow. I hadn't thought about it like that. But this conversation wasn't turning out like it was supposed to. He was supposed to be overcoming his feelings of inadequacy.  
  
"Spike, this whole situation is just temporary-"  
  
"So says Ripper. He got any proof? He know for a fact that my eyes are gonna switch back on sometime soon? Bet he thought it was just the bloody bollocks when you told him what ELSE is wrong with good ol' Spike, eh? Just jumpin' at the chance to help me with my little problem, was he?"  
  
I didn't know what to say.   
  
"An' you. Isn't it just like you to decide you want me after all, just when there's nothin' left to want? Your gift is death? Seems to me your gift is poor bloody timin'."  
  
I knew he was just trying to piss me off. So I counted to ten and didn't break his nose.  
  
Instead, I pushed him back until he was stretched full-length on the sofa and lay down on top of him.  
  
"Look, Blondie." OK, bad choice of words. "I mean, listen. I'll admit, my timing could use some work. But this whole self-pity thing you've got going? Not liking it. And not having it."  
  
I grabbed him by the hair and laid a wet one on him. He growled. Very cool.  
  
"I want you like you were. Fully operational and a huge pain in the ass. And in case you haven't noticed, I almost always get what I want."  
  
He was running his hands up and down my sides, under my shirt. I was liking it.  
  
"It's the 'almost' that worries me, pet." Kissing my neck and trying to get under my bra.  
  
"Don't worry. I'm very...I'm very..." Sliding his thigh between my legs and pressing into me. "...determined..."  
  
"Oh, gross. Get a room, already." Dawn was standing a few feet away, looking disgusted. I jumped off him and pulled my shirt down. Then I glanced down to see if, maybe...nope, nothing. Damn. I was starting to wonder if the problem was with me.   
  
"It's very late, Dawn. What are you doing out of bed?" It's hard to be authoritative in a situation like that. I don't think I pulled it off.  
  
"I was hungry. What's your excuse?" She smirked at me. "G'night, Spike."   
  
"G'night, Platelet."   
  
She went back upstairs. By that time, I had pulled myself together.  
  
OK, so the psychological approach wasn't going to cut it. Time for Plan B. I decided to call Willow first thing in the morning.  
  
"I'm going to bed now. Do you want...would you...wanna...?"  
  
He grinned at me. "No, but thanks, pet. Think that might be a bit more than I could stand."  
  
I didn't sleep well that night. Gotta say, frustration kicks the ass of patience and virtue. But I bet you already knew that.  
  
  
tbc 


	8. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 8

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 8  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
If you know anything about me, you probably know that sometimes I get a little preoccupied and miss some really obvious stuff. So it won't be a surprise when I tell you that I never bothered to mention to Spike that Willow was gonna make a little magick for him.  
  
I showed up at Willow and Tara's way early the next morning and caught them in bed. I won't lie to you-the whole 'hello, gay now' thing still wigged me a little, but I was getting better. So I plastered a big smile on my face and apologized for barging in on them.  
  
While I waited for Will to get out of the shower, I talked to Tara about Spike's problem. Which I had come to think of as MY problem. I have some boundary issues. Sue me.  
  
Tara seemed to think that a spell that worked on Spike's head would most likely be the fix, but I had my doubts. The whole psychological approach had been a big bust, so I figured the trouble must be elsewhere.   
  
I was all for something that would work directly on the part in question, and the quicker the better. So when Willow finally emerged, we sat down to research a spell that we ended up calling 'the quicker picker upper.' Its real name was The Priapus Charm, after this god who walked around ready for action all the time.  
  
"Buffy, this is a very potent spell. It's important that you understand the possible consequences." Tara looked all serious and worried, but since that's her usual expression, I didn't pay too much attention.  
  
"No kidding, Buffy, Tara's right. If it works, Spike could...um...get really..."  
  
"Horny?"  
  
"Beyond horny. Are you prepared?"  
  
"Will. Believe me. I'm prepared. I'm SO prepared."  
  
"OK then. Let's get busy. Did you bring something of his?"  
  
I handed her the book of John Donne's poetry we had taken from the crypt. She put it inside the circle she'd made on the carpet, lit some candles and sage, and did her thing.  
  
I didn't waste much time getting home.   
  
He was still asleep. I mean, it was prime snooze time for him. I tried to be patient. I folded some laundry. I dusted. Loudly.  
  
At noon, I vacuumed the living room, paying special attention to the area around the sofa. He didn't even twitch.  
  
I seriously considered opening the drapes and letting Mr. Sunshine in. Just a crack, just for a second. Oh, don't look at me like that. I didn't DO it.  
  
Finally, at about, two o'clock, he started to stir. Actually, HE didn't, so much as his...well, you know. All of a sudden, there was a definite tent in the front of his sweatpants. Not that I was just sitting there staring at his crotch or anything. I mean, I was, but it would have been difficult to miss even if I wasn't.  
  
Then his eyes popped open and he started sniffing the air.  
  
"Slayer?"  
  
"Yes, Spike, I'm here." I sat down on the floor next to the sofa and started rubbing my hands over his chest and shoulders. The whole patience and virtue thing? I was SO over it.  
  
But then I looked at him and froze, 'cause his eyes were bright gold and I could see his face trying to change.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"What...what's goin' on, Buffy? Why am I so..." Then his teeth started to get a little fang-y and his whole body started to quiver. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me.  
  
"What did you do, you silly bint?!!?  
  
"I...I...Willow! She did a spell! To fix you. It'll be all right, Spike, just-"  
  
"Like HELL, it'll be all right! Don't you realize what you've done?" His eyes were rolling around in his head, and I could hear the beginnings of a serious growl starting up in his chest.   
  
"Spike, just calm down and listen-"  
  
"Go! Run! For God's sake girl, get out of the soddin' house before I-I can't hold it-"  
  
He morphed completely then and I started to think maybe I was in trouble. I made for the stairs and he was right behind me. The fact that he couldn't see me gave me a slight edge. I slammed my bedroom door and locked it. I heard him hit it with all his weight.  
  
Speed dial is a wonderful thing. Willow picked up on the first ring and started jabbering something about Xander being arrested. By the time I got her to listen to me, one hinge was off the door and the wood was starting to splinter. And he was howling.  
  
"There IS no way to reverse the spell, Buffy. You have to wait for it to wear off, but that could take hours, days even. The only other way is-"  
  
"Is what?!?" The second hinge was gone and I knew I should have done like he said and gotten out of the house. Some day I'll learn to take direction.  
  
"To let him...um...the only other way is for the charm to be satisfied. You know what I mean?"  
  
I never got to answer her.   
  
He was in the room and I was kicking and punching like my life depended on it, which, at that point, I thought might be the case. He took every shot and kept coming. Once, he tried to hit back and I could have sworn I heard the chip in his head go off. He fell back and screamed. For a second, I thought maybe it was over.  
  
But he came up swinging and I was getting tired. Then I heard the front door slam and Willow and Tara were on their way up the stairs.   
  
Spike froze and turned toward the doorway. They were standing there with stakes in their hands. He sniffed the air and let out a whine that sounded like a confused wolf pup.  
  
"Willow, don't. Just back off."  
  
"But, Buffy, you can't-"  
  
"Go away, Will! Dawn'll be home soon-go wait outside and take her to your place."  
  
"Buffy, this is-"  
  
"GO!!"  
  
They stood there looking at both of us for another second and then backed out and down the stairs.  
  
Spike turned to me and I waited to see what would happen. Short wait. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor under him.  
  
I braced myself for what I thought was going to be a very unpleasant little encounter. His hands were all over me, pinching and grabbing and tearing at my clothes. I tried to be still, figuring that if I fought, it would just provoke him more.   
  
But all of a sudden, I was finding it hard to just lie there. He was licking my neck and his hand was inside my bra and down my pants and it occurred to me that this didn't have to be such a bad thing. I mean, he was doing everything right, if a little rough.  
  
And then his mouth was on my boob and I could feel those fangs, and I'm here to tell you, I was wigging. But the chip must have gone off again, 'cause he grabbed his head and moaned, and it was a fang-free experience from then on.  
  
How much of this do you want to hear?   
  
Perv.  
  
OK, well, I remembered in theory the whole 'cool skin, cool hands, cool tongue' thing from Angel, but I'd forgotten what it really felt like. By the time he'd ripped the rest of my clothes off, I'd finished the refresher course and was ready to move on to VampSex 201.  
  
I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt, 'cause it had been months and months and Spike's not small, even when he's not enchanted. But there was something about the way he claimed me-something so frantic and savage and real-and I'd never felt anything like it. It made up for the two seconds of serious 'ouch' to feel wanted like that.   
  
Of course, getting pounded into the carpet was a little much. I had rug burn on my ass and shoulder blades that didn't heal for days.  
  
It was over pretty fast-faster than I needed it to be, if you know what I mean. He roared like some beastie out of a fairy tale and then fell on me and lay very still for about ten seconds.  
  
When he lifted his head and turned his dead eyes on me, I knew it was bad. His human face was back and there was this awful look of betrayal and anger and sadness on it. He didn't say anything-just rolled off me and pulled his sweats back up.  
  
"Spike..."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Spike, please-"  
  
"Shut your soddin' mouth, Slayer." He wouldn't face me.   
  
"Look, I'm sorry. I-"  
  
"Will you SHUT THE FUCK UP?!?"  
  
"Don't shout at me!"  
  
He whirled around and zeroed in on me, by scent, I guess. His eyes were shooting little yellow sparks again.  
  
"Don't SHOUT at you? DON'T BLEEDIN' SHOUT AT YOU?!? Do you have ANY IDEA what could have happened here? Were you truly so desperate to get laid that you were willin' to risk your soddin' LIFE?"  
  
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean, I WAS desperate, but I didn't know-"  
  
"An' it never occurred to you or your dozy friends to ASK what happens when you perform a soddin' POTENCY SPELL on a VAMPIRE? Good God-tell me Ripper wasn't in on this-"  
  
"No. Giles didn't know."  
  
He covered his face with his hands and just stood there for the longest time. I waited it out.   
  
Finally, he ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right. Are you?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Right as rain, luv. Now, if you've something sharp an' wooden handy, I'll just go on an' dust myself an' save your mates the trouble."  
  
"Don't be an idiot. Nobody's going to dust you."  
  
"No? You think they'll overlook a spot of rape? Right decent of 'em."  
  
"It WASN't rape! Don't call it that!"  
  
"I'll call it what it bloody well was!"  
  
"Not rape. I wanted it."  
  
"You wanted it? Like that? I can smell your blood, Slayer, an' since I know I didn't bite you, I can only assume that my demon was a bit over-eager in its attentions, yes?" Those blank blue eyes were on my face and I knew I could try to lie, but it wouldn't get me anywhere. He'd learned to read my voice so well in the last couple of weeks.   
  
"Well, I'll admit it wasn't exactly how I envisioned our first time. But I knew it would be...different...I mean, you're a vampire and-"   
  
"An' what? You think THAT was my standard technique?"  
  
"Well, yeah, I mean, don't you usually vamp out and...and stuff?"  
  
"Is that how it was with Angel? Is that why you think-"  
  
"No, but Angel has a...I mean, you and Angel are..."  
  
"Oh, I get it. Peaches is the sweet soul-boy lover and I'm what? The walkin' demon gang-bang? Good for a nice brutal fuck against your will?"  
  
He was really starting to piss me off.   
  
"Will you stop it? And anyway, I don't know why you're getting so worked up-it's not like you've never done it before...I mean, Angel told me-"  
  
"Ah, yes, leave it to the Magnificent Prancing Pouf to regale you with tales of my days as a sex-offender. Did he happen to mention that he's the one who instructed me in the finer points of rape an' sodomy?"  
  
Why were we talking about Angel, anyway? I decided to change the subject.  
  
"Spike, listen to me. Your chip-it went off when you hit me, right? And when you tried to bite me? But it didn't go off when you...when you-"  
  
"Slammed into you with all the finesse of a bleedin' bull rhino?"   
  
Something about that image made me want to laugh. And there I was, standing in the middle of the mess that used to be my bedroom, completely naked, blood running down the insides of my legs, giggling like a loon. Hello, Drusilla, have we met? I'm Spike's OTHER insane girlfriend.  
  
He didn't get the joke, but then he couldn't see how special I looked.  
  
"Spike, it's all right. Really, it wasn't that bad." I said it between the hiccups I'd managed to give myself.  
  
"Ta, pet. Just what I've always dreamed you'd say directly followin' our first shag." Now he was pouting. Good. Pouty Spike I could deal with.  
  
I heard the front door open and shut again, and then the sound of Willow's voice. "Buffy? Are you OK?"  
  
"Yes, Will. We'll be right down." I turned to Spike. "I need to go clean myself up. I'll be right back." I took a step toward him and laid my hand on his arm. He flinched and stepped back. "We need to talk about this some more. Don't go anywhere."  
  
But when I got back from the bathroom, he was gone.  
  
  
  
tbc 


	9. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 9

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 9  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
I wasn't too concerned. I mean, how far could a blind vampire go in the middle of a sunny afternoon?  
  
Pretty far, as it turned out.   
  
Tara was waiting for me downstairs.  
  
"Where is he?" The whole time I was in the bathroom, I'd been thinking about what to say to him to make it right.   
  
"He's gone."  
  
"What d'you mean, gone?"   
  
"He was pretty upset, Buffy. He threatened to walk outside in the sunlight if Willow didn't take him away from here."  
  
"Where?"  
  
She hesitated and I grabbed her by the shoulders. But all of a sudden, shy, sweet Tara grew a resolve-face of her own. "We wrapped him in a blanket and put him in the car, and Willow drove away. He's safe. That's all you need to know."  
  
"Look, Tara-"  
  
"No, YOU look, Buffy. I had a bad feeling about this spell from the beginning. I should have spoken up and that's my fault, but I'm not going to make it worse by letting you chase after him. He needs to recover-"  
  
"HE needs to recover?! Do you know what just happened? And why are you protecting him, anyway, after HE attacked ME?" OK, that was cheap, and I knew it, but I'm not used to being challenged like that.  
  
"You look OK to me." Wow. She wasn't gonna give an inch.  
  
I started pacing around the living room. "Listen Tara, I'm not going to hurt him or anything. I just want to talk to him. I know he's upset-I'm pretty wigged myself. But we can work this out-"  
  
"Maybe you can, maybe you can't, but you both need space right now."  
  
She sounded so certain. I sat down on the sofa and ran my hand over the blood stains that refused to come out, no matter how many times I scrubbed at them. The upholstery never completely dried, 'cause I was always making Spike get up so I could scrub some more.   
  
"The spell was a bad idea."  
  
"It was. But it's not all your fault. I've told Willow so many times that she has to do more research before she casts."  
  
"What am I gonna do, Tara?"  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
Whoa. Talk about cutting right to the chase.  
  
"I don't know. I don't think I know how to love anymore. It's just too damn hard."  
  
"That's crap." Dawn was standing in the doorway, looking at me like I was a bug she wanted to squash.  
  
"How long have you been listening to my private conversation?"   
  
"Long enough to get sick to my stomach. I can't believe you, Buffy. What happened to all that stuff you told me right before you took the big plunge, huh? All that stuff about how the hardest thing to do in life is live, and how we should all live for you?"  
  
"Dawn, you don't understand-"  
  
"What don't I understand? That you came back from the dead just so you could walk around like a zombie? That you're all hat and no cattle?"  
  
That was one of the little Spike-isms she'd picked up. When I first got back from...wherever...it drove me crazy how much she'd started to talk like him. But right then, it just made me smile.  
  
"Why don't you love him, anyway? He seems pretty loveable to me."  
  
"He's a vampire, Dawn."  
  
"Well, duh."  
  
And all of a sudden, something clicked. 'Cause I knew that Dawn didn't mean 'duh, he's a vampire.' She meant 'duh, that's why you should love him.'   
  
And I got it. I understood that I should love Spike-I maybe even did love Spike, but let's not go all the way there just yet-because he was this amazing, astonishing creature: a vampire that could love me. Love the Slayer. The Slayer that was me.   
  
Yeah, I know, Angel loved me too. But not enough to stick around and fight it out. Nope, when the going got tough, Angel got going. And then there was the little matter of his demon side, which most definitely did not love me.  
  
But Spike was all demon, all the time, and loved me anyway.   
  
Pretty cool.   
  
All of that flashed through my brain in about five seconds flat.   
  
I turned to Tara. "I need to talk to Giles, like, now."  
  
"Well, right this second he's down at the police station bailing Xander out."  
  
"Xander? Oh, yeah...Willow said..."  
  
"That's the other reason the spell was a bad idea."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Come on, I'll explain on the way."  
  
I surprised Dawn with a hug on the way out.   
  
"So, when am I going to meet this Ricky guy?" She turned all red and swore under her breath in a very British way.  
  
"Dawn!"  
  
"Spike promised he wouldn't tell-I'm gonna kill that stupid vampire."  
  
"Thought you said he was so loveable." She stuck out her tongue at me and ran upstairs.  
  
The stroll to the magic shop was very informative. Seems Tara had used a business card of Xander's-Xander Harris, apprentice carpenter, no job too small--to mark a page in Spike's book of poetry, and left it there. So the spell Willow cast...  
  
"...turned Xander into a big old horn-dog too, huh?"  
  
"Apparently. All I know is that Xander called Willow from jail 'cause he'd been arrested for lewd behavior. We figured it must have something to do with the spell, so we checked the book, and sure enough..."  
  
"Poor Xander."  
  
Or not. Because the next time I saw Xander, he was having a great time. The one you had to feel sorry for was Giles.  
  
  
tbc 


	10. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 10

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 10  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
When we got to the shop, both Willow's and Giles's cars were parked outside, which meant that Spike was there, too.  
  
"Wait out here, Buffy."  
  
I like Tara, I really do. But at that point, I was getting a little fed up with her whole new assertive thing.   
  
"I don't think so, Tara. He's gotta face me sometime."  
  
She frowned and started to say something and then it was the battle of the resolve-faces. I won, mostly 'cause I had more practice. We went in.  
  
I wish I'd had a camera, 'cause I really don't think I can describe the scene in a way that does it justice.  
  
You know that nifty table near the back of the shop? The one that lights up from underneath? Xander was standing on it. Actually, he was dancing on it, if you could call it that.   
  
He had his shirt in his hand and he was swinging it around in a big circle. His pants were unbuttoned and he was doing a pretty funky bump and grind to whatever music was playing in his head.   
  
Giles was doing his best to talk him down from the table, but Xander wasn't going for it. Every time Giles reached up to grab him, Xander just laughed and shimmied to one side or the other. And his pants, which were baggy to begin with, had started to travel southward, taking his plaid boxers with 'em. The only thing holding them up was the huge bulge that stuck way out in front.  
  
Willow and Spike were nowhere to be seen.  
  
Tara and I just stood there and stared.  
  
"Xander, you MUST come down from there THIS INSTANT. This is a place of business, after all, and I CANNOT allow you to continue this RIDICULOUS and UNSEEMLY behavior." Never before had Giles sounded so much like a retired librarian.  
  
But Xander just kept on shakin' his booty, until finally all of his bopping and bumping dislodged the jeans and boxers, and there he stood, in all his glory.  
  
I wish, for Giles's sake, that I could say that was the end of the show. But since he couldn't dance very well with his pants around his ankles, Xander decided to get creative. He grabbed his...thingy...and started shaking it like it was a baton and he was conducting an orchestra.  
  
"Xander! GET DOWN FROM THERE. NOW!"  
  
"Why don't you come on up here and get me, Rupe-y?" He actually sounded like he was...flirting.  
  
That's when Giles lost it. He jumped up and tackled Xander. They both crashed to the floor behind the table where we couldn't see them. But we could hear them.  
  
"Bloody HELL! Xander, get OFF of me!"  
  
"Gotcha now, Giles! And I'm SO gonna KISS THE LIBRARIAN!"  
  
"LET GO!"  
  
Then there was the definite sound of something ripping and then the wet, smacky sound of somebody being kissed. And then the door opened behind us and Anya walked in.  
  
"Hi. What's going on?" She was holding the cash-box.  
  
"OW! OWWWW!"  
  
Giles must've gotten desperate, 'cause when they finally stood up, Xander had a bloody nose.   
  
Anya took one look at nearly-naked and still-turned-on Xander, and torn-shirt, mussed-hair Giles, and went big-time ballistic. Even though she's supposedly all-human these days, I swear I saw her eyes go seriously demon-y.  
  
"Rupert Giles and Xander Harris! How DARE you do this to me!"  
  
"Now, Anya, this isn't what it-"  
  
"SHUT UP, Giles! So THIS is the thanks I get for being a good employee? You send me out to the bank so you can jump my fiancé?"  
  
It didn't help that Xander wouldn't stop giggling. He was shuffling towards Anya, his thingy still big and bopping along, with a huge grin on his face.  
  
"Hey, baby, where ya been? I missed ya!"  
  
"And YOU! How COULD you, Xander?" Now I was starting to feel sorry for her-her feelings were hurt and it was at least partly my fault.  
  
"Anya, listen, there's been a mistake-"  
  
"I'LL say there's been a mistake, Buffy. Why did I ever think I could have a normal relationship on a hellmouth, anyway? Nothing ever goes the way it's supposed to-and now the man I planned to marry has become a homosexual!" She was starting to cry.  
  
"No, Anya, listen-Willow did a spell-"  
  
"A spell? Willow cast a spell that turned Xander and Giles into homosexuals? I knew she didn't like me very much, but I thought we were beginning to be friends-"  
  
"No, Anya, Xander and Giles aren't gay-"  
  
"I should say not!" Giles was straightening his clothes and fixing his hair.  
  
"Not that there's anything WRONG with that, right, Giles?" I looked at him and then at Tara, who was standing there biting her lip.  
  
"Er...no...of course not, it's just that I don't happen to be-"  
  
By this time, Xander had reached Anya and was rubbing himself up against her and making little grunting noises. She pushed him away.  
  
"OK, somebody better explain what's going on here, because I've already made a deposit on a very expensive wedding dress and-"  
  
"Like I said, Willow did a spell. A...a potency spell. On Spike." I braced myself for Giles's reaction.  
  
"Oh, good Lord-have you all gone utterly mad? Don't you know what might have-"  
  
"It seemed like a good idea at the time." I had no intention of letting Giles know what had happened between Spike and me.  
  
"But if she did the spell on Spike, then how come...?" Anya had stopped pushing Xander away and was letting him nuzzle her neck.  
  
"We used a book of Spike's that had Xander's business card inside, so the charm worked on both of them. I'm really, really sorry, guys-this is just awful." Now Tara looked like SHE was going to cry.  
  
"OK-I guess I understand." Xander had one hand down the front of her blouse, and Anya wasn't looking nearly so upset anymore.  
  
"There's still the issue of legalities. Xander will have to appear in court sometime soon to face charges of lewd conduct. Really, girls, this is beyond the pale."  
  
At that point, Willow came in from the back room and I kinda lost interest in the conversation. I met her a few steps from the door.  
  
"I want to see him. Now." I started off strong, 'cause I figured she was gonna argue. Surprise-she didn't bother.  
  
"Yeah, I guess you've got some things to talk about." She seemed distracted. Then I realized that she was looking over my shoulder at the little scene that was playing out at the front of the store.  
  
"Is he OK?"  
  
"Huh? Oh-yeah, he's fine. I mean, as fine as can be expected, under the circumstances."  
  
The shop door slammed and Tara came over to stand near us.  
  
"What's going on?" Willow looked at Tara and Tara looked at Willow and there was some serious angsty stuff in the air.  
  
"Xander and Anya are going home to...satisfy the charm. Willow, Giles would like to speak with you. Immediately." Uh oh. Somebody was in trouble. I knew I should go and take my share of the blame, but what can I say? I bailed.  
  
I walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. I turned the knob and went in.  
  
While I had been deceased, Giles and the gang had turned the training room into a kind of research lab/crash pad, complete with big-screen TV and three pull-out sofa-beds. Spike was stationed on one of them, pretending to be asleep.  
  
"Rise and shine, Bleach Boy." I was going for light-hearted. It came out pushy. Story of my life.  
  
His eyes snapped open and bore right into me. Even blind, his gaze was something to deal with. I sat down on one of the other sofas.  
  
"What d'you want, Slayer?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know-thought you might be up for a game of Scrabble." I paused. He didn't take the bait. "What do you THINK I want, you blood-sucking idiot? WHY THE HELL DID YOU TAKE OFF LIKE THAT!?!?!"  
  
"Don't you watch the telly, Slayer? Leavin' the scene of the crime is standard procedure. I was merely playin' my part in your little drama."  
  
"WHAT the hell are you talking about, Spike? I already told you-there was no crime. What happened was a mistake, but that's all it was."  
  
"So says the Slayer. I've a feelin' your Watcher will think differently."  
  
"Giles doesn't need to know."  
  
"He's not a fool, Buffy."  
  
"I'll pass along the compliment. Are we done talking about Giles yet? 'Cause I've got some stuff I'd like to say."  
  
He was quiet.  
  
"First of all, I want to apologize, which is a relatively new thing for me, so just bear with me here, OK?" I was fishing for a smile, but he didn't bite. "So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry we did the spell without asking you first. I'm sorry that it unleashed...whatever it was that got unleashed. By the way, I gotta say-that particular side of your demon is pretty impressive. Had me on the ropes in under five minutes. Why don't you use it more often-like, in battle and NOT against me, ever again, OK?"  
  
He didn't answer.  
  
"What...I mean, how are you feeling now? Is everything...back to normal?"  
  
"Nope. Still blind."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's not exactly what I meant."  
  
"I know what you meant."  
  
"And?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"You wanna...test it out?"  
  
He shrugged again. I got up and sat down again on the end of his sofa.   
  
His feet were bare under the blanket. I took one of them into my lap and began to run my fingers over the top of it. The skin was soft and smooth and very white. I looked into his face and saw that his eyes were closed.  
  
I stroked the sole of his foot and felt him tense. I began massaging his toes-they're very cute toes, by the way-and he relaxed again and sunk further down into the cushions.  
  
"That's very nice, Slayer, but I suspect it won't do the trick."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh." I tried not to sound disappointed.   
  
"So...is there anything...I mean..."  
  
"I doubt it." I was beginning to realize that my own frustration was a pretty small thing compared to what he must be going through.  
  
"Just as well, Slayer. You can forget about your right misguided little infatuation and find yourself a whole man with eyes and danglies all fully functional and ready for action, can't you then? Much simpler all 'round."  
  
The edge of anger in his voice didn't bother me nearly as much as the fact that he was willing to give me up without a fight. Just my ego talking again, but it was talking loud and I decided to listen.   
  
"Who the hell do you think you are, to dismiss me like that? You think you're the only one with feelings around here? What if I don't WANT to find a WHOLE man? What if I want YOU?" OK, that came out wrong. But I was wound up.  
  
"Your misfortune, Slayer. I've had enough of this bleedin' push-me pull-you rot. An' I thought DRUSILLA was fickle."  
  
Now, looking back, I can see that he was working overtime to piss me off. But in the moment, all I knew was that he had compared me-unfavorably-to the bitch-queen that had started all this misery in the first place. And I reacted like you can probably guess I would.  
  
I lunged at him, grabbed him by the hair, and slapped him. Hard. Twice.  
  
Then I slammed out of the room and didn't see him again for a month.  
  
  
  
tbc 


	11. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 11

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 11  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
And what a month it was.  
  
At the time, I was glad for any distractions that came along, even ones shaped like a large pack of werewolves that needed to be rounded up and terminated with prejudice. Poor Will was freaking, 'though. Every time we took one down, she'd stand there and watch as it changed back to its human form and she'd cry and cry. And Tara would watch her cry and get angry and hurt. There was big trouble there, and I felt guilty, 'cause I knew the spell I'd asked for was partly to blame.  
  
And Giles. He was pretty mad at us for a few days. He kept grilling me about what had happened between me and Spike, but I just stonewalled 'til he gave up. I knew he'd figured it out. Spike was right, the man's no fool. But I also knew that until he heard the words 'Spike attacked me' from my own lips, he wouldn't do a thing about it. And that was fine with me.  
  
And then, about three weeks into one of the longest months of my life, he announced that he was taking an extended trip to England. Just like that. We hadn't even finished killing off the werewolf pack, and Willow was acting all weird and moody, and Spike was still blind as a bat and staying in the back of the magic shop-and Giles was leaving. He wouldn't even tell us when we could expect him back. And he wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked him why he was going.  
  
I thought I had a good reason to be angry. I stomped around and made growly noises and even refused to attend the little going-away party that the gang put together for him on the night before he left.  
  
I told them, and myself, that it was because I was mightily pissed off at my Watcher and wasn't in the mood to wish him a bon voyage. But the truth was that since the party was being held in the back room of the shop-aka: Spike's new/temporary home-I wasn't going 'cause I couldn't deal with being in the same room as a certain blonde vamp.  
  
But I did drive with Giles to the airport the next day. And I apologized for being so snarky and acting like he didn't have a right to a life of his own. He was very understanding and we did the whole 'I love you, I'll miss you, please call and email often' thing. And then he said something that really weirded me out. 'Cause, I mean, this was Giles. Hater of vampires, and William the Bloody in particular.  
  
He said this: "Buffy, you need to take stock. Look around. Decide what's important and what isn't. And don't let anyone-and by that I mean ANYONE, even those that love you-cheat you out of living life to its fullest. Remember what you told Dawn before you jumped. Live by it. Don't let the little difficulties get in the way of your ultimate happiness-you'll regret it forever." Wow. Deep. And why did it sound like HE was about to jump off a tower?  
  
And why did I immediately think he was talking about me and Spike? I don't know, but I did. And later, much later-just recently, in fact-he confirmed it.  
  
By the time I got home from the airport, I was itching to talk to him, to be in the same room with him. But I just couldn't. Call it pride, call it stubbornness, call it fear-I just wasn't going there.   
  
Except, that's exactly where I wound up. And I guess it was sort of a fib to say I didn't see him for a whole month, 'cause I did. He didn't see me, 'though.  
  
I let myself in through the back door. I'd pretty much memorized his sleep patterns during the time he was staying with us-I was fairly certain he'd be out cold at four in the afternoon. He was.  
  
So I stood there by the door and watched him sleep. Ever watch Spike snooze? It's not like you'd think. I mean, yeah, there's the whole not-breathing thing, but I can't really say that he seems like he's dead.   
  
There's this electric aura that sort of hovers around him. It's there when he's awake too, but then he's always moving and it's harder to detect. Of course, it could be just a Slayer thing, in which case, you probably wouldn't be able to feel it. Lucky Chosen One that I am, I sense it big-time, and it affects me in ways I can't even describe. Makes me vibrate from the inside out all the time, which probably accounts for the squirrely way I act around him. If I could stake him, it'd be like a release, but I can't, so no release and lots o' tension.  
  
OK, I know and you know that what I'm really talking about is sex.   
  
And when I was standing there, watching him sleep, that's what I thought it was all about. The whole conversation I'd had with Dawn about loving him 'cause of what he was-I'd conveniently forgotten it. Or didn't want to remember it, 'cause it messed with my big 'all I need is a big bang' theory.  
  
I watched him for a good ten minutes. Watched his dead eyes move underneath his lids, and wondered what he was dreaming. Watched his hand twitch once and a while where it was lying on the blanket that covered his legs. Imagined what it would feel like on my skin.   
  
Not that I didn't remember what it felt like to be touched by him. But that had been enchanted-demon-Spike, and I knew that what could be between us when he was himself would be better.  
  
Then the way the light from lamp in the corner hit his face made me think about something I'd seen in my mom's gallery a long time ago. It was a painting of an angel, but not a cute and chubby angel like you see on a Valentine. This was a really dark picture, full of angry red and black swirly clouds and it made me think of all the dangerous things that hide in the night. And then in upper left-hand corner of the painting, there was this figure-you couldn't really see it very well, 'cause the artist kind of blurred it, but it was bathed in this very soft light. The figure was facing away, so all you saw was the outline of its back and you could barely make out the wings. But the hair glowed gold, and you could see that the shoulders were broad and the hands were definitely male. It looked strong and comforting and at the same time, kind of scary, 'cause you could see the power just sort of radiating off of it.  
  
I know. I'm reading a lot into a painting that I probably don't even remember the right way. But I DO remember that the first time I saw it, it struck me as being familiar. It was only then, in the back room of the shop, that I realized who it reminded me of.  
  
'Cause, you know, angels aren't always so righteous. And I'm not even talking about the obvious here-you know, Angel/Angelus, the scourge of Europe, blah blah blah. I mean like Lucifer and all the angels that fell with him. I mean, think about that for a minute. All those angels, meant to be messengers of light and deliverers of comfort, sent to a place where there's only darkness and torment. That's gotta be a bitch, huh? It made me think about salvation and redemption-and I am by no means Religion Girl, which you probably already knew. But I mean, like, redemption on a personal level.  
  
You'd think I would have had my fill of this kind of thing when I was with Angel. He was-and still is, as far as I know-a big one for seeking salvation. But sometimes I wonder if salvation isn't something that's meant to be worked for. Maybe it's something that comes when you're just trying to survive and not get hurt too bad. Maybe it creeps up on you when you least expect it and changes you into somebody who'd give their life to save another, whether that's how you started out or not. Sound like anybody we know?  
  
So there I was. Part of me was doing the total lust thing, thinking that if I could just get up close and personal with him on my own terms one time, everything would be a just one big old happy in the land of Buffy. And part of me was having all these profound thoughts about what it meant that he loved me and would have died for me-what it meant for just the two of us and what it meant on a cosmic scale.  
  
And guess what? I couldn't deal. I got a big old jelly-belly and I bolted.   
  
Surprised? Didn't think so.  
  
Wish I could say the hardest part was over. But it wasn't-not by a long ways.  
  
  
  
tbc 


	12. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 12

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book One: Deep Down Dark: Chapter Twelve  
Author: VicNoir  
Disclaimer, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
A week later I was in my basement, kicking the crap out of the punching bad I'd hung there, when Dawn came barreling down the stairs and then jumped the last five feet to the floor.  
  
"He can see!"  
  
I knew what she was talking about, of course, but I couldn't seem to get anything off my tongue but, "Huh?"  
  
"Spike! He can see! Well, only just light and shadows, but Willow's on the phone and she says we should get over there, so come on already!"  
  
As I passed her, I stopped and gave her arm a squeeze. She looked at me and said, "You can't fool, me, you know. I can tell how much you care."  
  
"I know. You're just like mom." That got me the biggest smile I'd seen in quite a while.  
  
"Well, are you coming or not?" She raced me to the top of the stairs.  
  
It was about eight in the evening at that point. By the time we got to the magic shop, I was pretty nervous. I mean, maybe he could see-even if just a little bit-but that didn't mean he'd want to see ME.  
  
Willow met us at the door. I immediately went into wiggins-mode. "Um...you go ahead, Dawnie. I'll just wait here-"  
  
The two of them grabbed me by the arms and dragged me to the back of the shop.  
  
"Guys! Stop! You don't get it. Last time I saw him-"  
  
"You slapped the stuffing out of him. I know." I couldn't read the expression on Will's face.  
  
"He told you?"  
  
"No. I saw the marks. You really whacked him good. They didn't fade for almost ten minutes. Which is like a week in vampire time."  
  
I wanted to crawl away and die of shame-blind vamp slapper that I was.  
  
"Buffy, you're going in there."  
  
"No, Will, I can't-"  
  
"You can. You're the Slayer. Summon up all that Chosen One determination that I know you've got inside of you and get on with it already. You've done harder stuff than this."  
  
She was right, of course, but for the life of me I couldn't remember anything harder than walking through that door. But I did it. Yay, me.  
  
He was standing with his face about six inches from the TV screen watching a soccer game when I went in. He didn't turn.  
  
"Um...Spike?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What...um...what're you doing?"  
  
"Watchin' a match on the telly, Slayer. You gone blind too?"  
  
"You can see it?"  
  
He turned then and squinted in my direction.  
  
"Yeah, a little."   
  
"I...I'm glad, Spike."  
  
"Yeah. Thanks."  
  
I was walking towards him before I'd made a conscious decision to move. When there were about two feet left between us I stopped. I wanted to touch him. Hell, I wanted to jump on him and knock him to the floor and cover him with kisses. I settled for just standing there, smiling like an idiot.  
  
"Slayer?"  
  
"I'm right in front of you."  
  
"I know. I can just make out your shadow."  
  
"When...?"  
  
"When I woke up. Opened my eyes and could see shapes an' whatnot. Dark an' light. Some movement."  
  
"That's...that's just great." My ever-spectacular vocabulary to the rescue again. "Um...Spike? Can we go sit down?"  
  
He reached out for my hand and my heart twisted. Where did the Big Bad go? Who was this pale imitation of a master vampire? And why did I still want him so much when he wasn't even himself anymore?   
  
I took his hand and led him to one of the sofas. I pulled him down next to me and looked into his eyes, hoping to see something that would remind me of the pain in the ass he used to be.  
  
"Spike. Um...all I seem to be able to do is apologize to you. And I hate it-"  
  
"Then stop doin' it, pet."  
  
"No. I need to. I need to learn how to face my mistakes."  
  
"That sounds like your Watcher talkin'."  
  
"Yeah, well, Giles had this nasty habit of being right. Anyway, I'm sorry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
He had me there. What was a sorry for this time?   
  
"Um...for slapping you? I mean, not my finest hour."  
  
"Believe I had that comin', pet."  
  
"Well, maybe. But still-"  
  
"Forget it." His jaw had hardened and that little muscle was twitching again. How did I manage to piss him off without even trying?  
  
"So we're OK now?"  
  
"Yeah, Slayer. We're aces."  
  
Well, obviously not. But it didn't look like he had any plans to share whatever was bugging him, and I was getting a headache from the tension in the room. Still, I thought I'd better give it one last shot.   
  
So I blurted: "So when are going to get back to normal, already?" Real smooth, huh?  
  
But when I said it, something changed in his eyes. Just for a second, there was this glint of ...something. I know, again with the stunning lack of descriptive powers.   
  
"An' what, just exactly, is your definition of 'normal', Slayer? An' how do you propose I get back to it? An' why in the BLOODY HELL should I care what you think of me in the first place?" His voice was getting louder and his tone was getting nastier and isn't it weird that all I could do was sit there and grin from pure happiness?  
  
"Well, first of all, 'normal' for Spike is rude and loud, which you just proved you can still do. Second, you can get back there by getting over the whole self-pity thing that you've turned into your new reason for living...er...not living...you know what I mean. And third, you should care because you're still in love with me."  
  
He took a deep breath. Funny, how he does that. Have to ask him why sometime.  
  
"Am not."  
  
"Are too."  
  
"Slayer, I am NOT in love with you."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Since...since...what soddin' difference does it make since when?"  
  
"You're still madly in love with me, Spike. You might as well admit it."  
  
"Am not."  
  
"Are too."  
  
We probably could have gone on that way for quite a while. I know I was enjoying it. And I could tell he was, too, by the way he had to fight the little smile that kept creeping up on his mouth. And by the way his eyes were burning-finally! Finally, he was beginning to look like himself again. Even his voice had changed. It got deeper and lost that scared little boy tone that it'd had so much since that awful night when I found him.  
  
That awful night. For so long, it had been like a shadow between us. My mind kept going back to it, circling it, examining it from every angle. It was like a nightmare that didn't fade when the morning came. And that was just MY reaction to it-I couldn't even imagine how it must have haunted HIM. But right at that moment, I thought maybe we could get past it. Things were looking up.  
  
So there we were, nearly nose-to-nose on that sofa, him still insisting that he most certainly DIDN'T love me, and me telling him that I knew different. Looking back, I wish we could have played that little scene out to its logical conclusion, which, in my imagination, included at the very least a big, wet kiss with lots of tongue-action, and at the very most, maybe a little groping. After all, Dawn and Willow WERE just on the other side of the door. AND there was the issue of Little Spike and his big problem.  
  
But real life-at least the kind of real life that's part of the package when you live on a hellmouth-got all up in my face once again. Dawn burst into the room looking terrified. She was clutching her cell-phone in her hand and I could tell she was just about to lose it.   
  
"Buffy! She's got Ricky! DO SOMETHING, BUFFY, SHE'S GOT RICKY!!!"  
  
"Dawn, calm down. WHO'S got Ricky?"  
  
She looked as scared as I've ever seen her, and this was the gutsy little chick that'd faced Glory AND that little bastard Doc, and had been ready to take the plunge for the good of humanity.  
  
She looked at me and then at Spike and then back at me and then she whispered, "Drusilla."  
  
tbc 


	13. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 13

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 13  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see Chapter 1.  
  
  
"Dawn, how do you KNOW that Drusilla's got Ricky?" This came right after the whole 'shocked silence' thing we did for about five seconds after she said it.  
  
"He...he called me on his cell. He said some crazy lady had him in a crypt in the cemetery. He said she grabbed him right outside our house."  
  
You know, I'd told Dawn to never give out her cell phone number to boys. But I guessed it wasn't the right time to bring that up.  
  
"Yeah, but why does the crazy lady have to be Drusilla? I mean, Sunnydale is full of crazy people, especially since, you know, Glory and stuff." Willow looked hopeful, but I had a bad feeling.  
  
"Ricky said they were going to have a tea-party as soon as the other guests arrived. He said she was talking to the moon--"  
  
"Yeah, that's Dru." Spike's first contribution to the conversation.  
  
All of a sudden, I felt a temper tantrum coming on. It had been a sucky few weeks and I was trying to do the 'stoic-and-unshakable-defender-of-the-innocent' thing, but I'd had enough at that point.   
  
"This is all your fault, you know. If you had let me take Drusilla out when she attacked you, this wouldn't be happening now." It felt good to be yelling at him again. Familiar. Comforting.  
  
I expected him to defend himself. But he was too busy pulling on his boots.  
  
"And where do you think you're going, anyway?"  
  
He looked up at me then. "Where d'you think, pet? After all, it IS all my fault, as you so graciously pointed out."  
  
"Oh, and what--you're gonna help me fight her? Like I need you there, getting in my way? Forget it, Spike." I heaved an axe out of the trunk under the coffee table and checked the blade.  
  
"I may not be up to fightin', Slayer, but I've know Drusilla for better than a century. I speak her language--"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure you're fluent in Psychotic. But there won't be much speaking going on. Only staking or beheading, whichever works in the moment."  
  
"Slayer--"  
  
"No, Spike. She took this kid off the street in front of our house. She's going down." I held his gaze, not knowing whether he could see my face or not.  
  
He stared at me for a few seconds and then nodded. Then he continued to pull on his boots.  
  
"What part of 'no you can't come with me' didn't you understand, Spike?"  
  
"You may need me more than you think you will, luv. I can--"  
  
"Spike. I don't need you. I NEVER NEED YOU." Wow. Deja vu. Cemetery, almost a year ago, right after Riley took a walk, right around the time the Council stopped by for a visit.  
  
He remembered too. I could tell by the way he squinted at me. I don't remember feeling that bad about saying it the first time. Probably because I didn't.  
  
"She'll make a trade."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The boy for me. She'll trade."  
  
"Oh, no, I'm NOT doing business with that loony bitch--"  
  
"Think about it, Slayer. Why d'you think she was on your street? Why THAT boy?"  
  
He had a point.   
  
"But why would she want you in the first place?" Dawn was looking pretty wigged out.  
  
"Not done playin', I expect. You interrupted her fun by haulin' me away the first time, Slayer. She's come back for more. The boy's just bait--"  
  
The cell phone in Dawn's hand rang. We all jumped about three feet. I grabbed it.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
There was a high-pitched giggle on the other end, followed by the voice of a very scared kid.  
  
"H..hello? Dawn?"  
  
"No, this is Buffy."  
  
"Uh...yeah...listen, there's somebody here that wants to talk to you--" He was interrupted by another weird giggle, and then I was talking to the crazy lady herself.  
  
"Is this the little Slayer? The one who's stolen my Spikey away from me?"  
  
"Drusilla, I'm warning you, you'd better let the boy go--"  
  
"But he's such a pretty boy--he reminds me of my sweet Spike--and you can't have all the pretty boys, Slayer, that wouldn't be fair!"  
  
Spike snatched the phone out of my hand. OK, so obviously the eyes were improving.  
  
"Dru." He listened for a moment. "Yes, pet, I know. Yes, I know. I'm coming." He tossed the phone back to Dawn and was out of the room.  
  
I caught up to him outside of the shop. I grabbed his arm and wouldn't let go until he stopped and faced me.  
  
"Spike, this isn't happening. I'm not letting you go to her so she can rip you up some more."  
  
"I've no intention of lettin' her rip me up, luv. She took me by surprise last time. It'll be different this go 'round." He pulled away and headed down the sidewalk. If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn he could see perfectly. But for all the vast improvement, the eyes were still not all the way there, 'cause the next thing he did was walk straight into the big mailbox that's parked on the corner.  
  
I stood over him and tried not to laugh, and failed.  
  
"Your mum was such a nice woman, Slayer. Wherever did you YOU learn t'be such a bleedin' bitch?"  
  
Oooooh, I SO wanted to kick his ass. Now, of course, I realize I deserved it, but at the time I was looking for a target and he made such a helpless, annoying one. And besides, I was frustrated on so many levels and he was the reason for an awful lot of it.  
  
But I restrained myself--you would've been proud of me. I didn't kick him, I just planted my right foot in the middle of his chest like the safari hunter that had brought down the biggest lion in the pride.  
  
"I may be a bitch, Bleach Boy, but I'm not enough of one to let you walk into whatever trap Psycho Vamp's got set up for you. Can't you see that I'm trying to protect you?"  
  
For some reason, that made him really crazy. He pushed me off and was on his feet and doing the whole pacing up and down, swinging his arms around and doing the lots-of-noise thing that's his trademark expression of big irritation.  
  
"What the bloody hell will it take for you to understand that I don't need nor want your soddin' protection, Slayer? I've lived for--"  
  
"Yeah, I know, you've lived for a century plus and you're the Big Bad and a Master Vampire, blah blah blah. You're also vision impaired and apparently extremely stupid. You can't fight Drusilla in this condition. You gotta know that."  
  
"Wasn't plannin' on fightin' her, pet. Just gonna distract her a bit, whilst you do a spot of rescue an' recovery." He'd calmed down somewhat, but I could tell that he wasn't going to let me leave him behind.  
  
"Is there anything I can say that'll make you stay here?"  
  
" 'Fraid not."   
  
"Well, let's get with the going then." I reached out and took his hand. He stiffened and try to push it away, but I held on tight. "Settle down. Or do you WANT to walk into every streetlight between here and the cemetery?"   
  
He did the pouty thing, and I fought the urge to reach up and bite his lower lip clean through. But first things first--I had a score to settle with his ex and I was pumped for some serious slayage.  
  
We started down the street and I noticed how naked and vulnerable he looked without his coat flying out behind him. I vowed to myself that before the night was over he'd have that precious duster of his back again, if I had to strip it off Drusilla myself before I dusted her.  
  
Took us longer to get to the cemetery than it usually did, 'cause he stumbled over every other curb on the way. By the time we got to the gates, I was cursing myself for not knocking him in the head and leaving him on the sidewalk back in front of the shop.  
  
We stopped just outside of the crypt. He turned to me and squinted into my eyes.   
  
"Remember, Slayer, I'll distract her and you--"  
  
"Yeah, I got it, Spike. Let's go."  
  
"Wait. I...what I mean to say, is...oh, bugger!" He grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged my mouth up to his and kissed me like he was going off to war or something. Or I was. When he finally let go, it took me a second to catch my breath.  
  
"What was THAT for?"  
  
"Nothin'. Just, whatever happens, know that I'm doin' it for you an' the Niblet."  
  
"OK, whatever, let's just do this, all right?" I was a little embarrassed by all the sudden, heartfelt emotion. It wasn't like him to abandon his 'I'm too cool for the planet' pose. Left me a little wigged, just when I needed to be on top of my game. So I took a deep breath and pushed the kiss out of my mind and kicked that damn door in for what I hoped would be the very last time.  
  
She must have heard us or smelled us or maybe the moon told her we were there. Whatever, it didn't matter, 'cause she was ready and standing just inside the doorway.  
  
She was wearing the duster. She had Ricky by the neck and was weaving from side to side like a cobra, complete with fangs. Did I ever mention how badly Drusilla wigs me? Something about her just really works my nerves.  
  
Spike stepped right up to her and began talking to her in this totally normal voice, like they were old buds that had met by accident on the street somewhere.  
  
"Drusilla, luv, how are you? You're lookin' so pretty tonight, pet." He took her hand--the one that wasn't wrapped around the kid's throat--and brought it to his lips. The whole time, he was staring into her eyes like he couldn't see anything else--which he probably couldn't, come to think of it.  
  
She slid out of game face and laughed at him and rolled her eyes and batted her lashes, just as if the last time she'd seen him she hadn't maimed him. "Oh, it's my Spike...I knew you'd come to me, my sweet Spike...the moon has been whispering of nothing else all evening and then Miss Edith said we must prepare for guests...and look, I brought you a party favor, my love..."  
  
Meanwhile, Ricky looked like he was about to pass out from fright. And I was just standing there like an idiot, watching Spike flirt with his nutty ex-lover. Then he was stroking her cheek and whispering something in her ear that made her giggle in a really evil way, and all of a sudden, I was jealous.   
  
Not the most rational reaction, considering that the whole distraction thing was part of the plan. Without giving it much thought, I closed the few feet between me and Spike and yanked him away from her.   
  
Dru's head snapped up like it was on a string and she went all 'grrr' again. And then it occurred to me that it probably should have been Ricky that I grabbed. Didn't look like I was gonna get a second chance any time soon, either.  
  
"Spike! You've brought the Slayer to our party! Why would you do that, Spike, don't you remember the last time she attended--she has VERY bad manners and Miss Edith doesn't care for the tone of her conversation."  
  
"Yeah, well, Miss Edith can bite me--now let go of the boy." I pushed Spike behind me. Then HE started growling and went all bumpy-forehead-guy.  
  
"Back off, Slayer. This is between my me and my princess--"  
  
"Your princess? You mean the loony-toon that shredded your face a few weeks ago?" All of a sudden, I wasn't sure if he was just playing a part or if...I mean, he and Drusilla were together for a long time, and I started feeling a little insecure.  
  
"Spike, make her go away. I want to be alone with you, Spike, I want it to be like it used to be..." She was doing the weaving-cobra thing again and the claw she was using to hold Ricky tightened up on his throat until I could see blood running from under her fingernails.  
  
"Dru, sweetie, why don't you let the boy go now an' then you an' I can have ourselves a nice little celebration. Let him go, now, luv. No need to aggravate the Slayer, pet, just let the boy go--"  
  
Drusilla started growling deep in her throat. Apparently, she wasn't buying what Spike was selling.  
  
"I can smell her on you, Spike, she's still all over you...why have you come to me with the stench of the Slayer on youuuuuuuuu...." She started this crazy keening wail that made the little hairs all over my body stand up and sing.  
  
And then her hand--the one that wasn't choking Ricky--flew out, faster than I could see it move, or Spike either, given his impairment--and caught Spike just under the chin. She opened a gash and dug her fingers in, dragging him to her.  
  
"I'm very cross with you, Spike, and you know what happens when you make me cross." He was clutching her hand and making a gurgling sound.  
  
She turned to me. "Come now, little Slayer, it's time you made a choice--you must decide between our two pretty boys." She started giggling and rolling her eyes, and it was hard to take in the hugeness of her madness all at once. "You know, the stars have heard rumors that you've been keeping my Spike as a pet. Do you love your pet, Slayer? Does he do tricks for you?"   
  
I watched as she dug her claws deeper into both of the throats she was holding. Ricky had stopped struggling and was almost unconscious. Spike wasn't fighting at all. It occurred to me that if he'd wanted to, he could probably break free. I knew then that he was letting this happen in order to save the kid.  
  
Now, I know that you can't dust a vampire by choking it or even slashing its throat, unless said vamp actually bleeds out, and Spike was a long way from that. I know it now. I knew it then. So what I did next makes no sense. Worse than that, it defies everything I stand for--everything that it means to be a Slayer.  
  
I chose Spike.  
  
  
tbc 


	14. Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 14

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book I: Deep Down Dark: Chapter 14  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc: please see previous chapters  
  
  
Now, when I say I chose Spike, I don't mean that I didn't plan on walking out of there with both of them. I mean, it's not like I just I looked at poor Ricky hanging there in Drusilla's claw and said 'sorry kid, tonight I'll be saving the evil undead vampire--better luck next time.'  
  
It's just that instead of putting one hundred percent of my effort into my sacred sworn duty to protect the innocent, I only gave it only maybe ninety percent. It might have had something to do with the way Drusilla was licking away the blood that was smeared on Spike's cheek. It distracted me. It pissed me off. So my first kick, which I thought I'd aimed straight into her gut, went a little wild and caught Spike in his right shoulder, spinning him out of her grip and over the tomb behind them.  
  
If I'd thought the noise she was making earlier was awful, it was only because I'd forgotten how loud the loon could scream. She came at me, still shaking Ricky like a rag doll, and I knew it was a do or die kind of situation when I saw the big crazy in her eyes.  
  
Then everything went all slow motion. It was like when I took the big plunge--every fraction of every second counted and I knew it was another one of Whistler's big moments. You might have noticed that I get more than my share of those.  
  
The stake was in my hand. Ricky's eyes were rolling around in his head, and I knew that the next few seconds meant everything for him. Drusilla was still shrieking like a car alarm and Spike was pulling himself back up over the tomb. I saw my opening.   
  
A slight pivot. A small shift of my weight. An arcing of my arm. That's all it would have taken. I've done it hundreds of times. I do it in my sleep every night. Remember? It's my gift.  
  
And then I saw Spike's face rise up over Drusilla's shoulder. He was looking at me and I knew that he could see me and see what I was about to do--what I HAD to do. The expression on his face...  
  
I've seen that sort of pain before. Angel does that kind of deep, emotional woundy-ness really well. The kind of pain that becomes a part of you from then on, like another organ inside your body.  
  
I chose, just for a second, to think about what it would mean to Spike if I dusted Drusilla. I thought of that instead of what I knew in my heart and soul was the right and only thing to do.   
  
Giles used to tell me: 'he who hesitates is lost.' He spent a lot of time getting me into the whole 'zen' mode of fighting--emptying my mind of everything but the dance, so that I'd learn not to let anything make me hesitate like I did at that moment.  
  
Drusilla knocked the stake out of my hand and jumped on me. She threw Ricky aside like he was made of air. The whole cobra metaphor? Turned out to be a good one, 'cause getting attacked by Drusilla is kind of like getting struck by a snake. Repeatedly.   
  
And then...and then.  
  
Everything stopped. The air around me was suddenly gritty with...dust? And Spike was standing over me with my stake in his hand, staring down at me. Or maybe it was what was left of Drusilla he was staring at. I never asked.  
  
And all I could think was this: 'fucking hurts, doesn't it?' Nothing like having to exterminate your lover. It's a one-of-a-kind experience.  
  
What do you say to someone in a situation like that? When it was me, I didn't stop to talk--I just wrote a note and got the hell out of Dodge.  
  
He dropped the stake and grabbed a dirty rag and pressed it against the gash on his throat. When he pulled it away, I could see that it had already stopped bleeding.  
  
I had to get Ricky to a hospital. I was feeling huge guilt for not doing a hell of a lot better job at saving him. I brushed the last of Drusilla off my clothes and then I heaved the kid over my shoulder.   
  
So, what should I have said to him? I'm asking, here. 'Cause really, I know I could've done better, but I don't know how, and if the situation ever comes up again...  
  
"Um...Spike? I'm gonna call an ambulance and meet it outside the cemetery...you want to come? Or not. I mean, it's totally up to you."  
  
He didn't say anything. He looked at me and shrugged, and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. And...  
  
DAMN! The duster. It was dust. That upset me as much as anything else that had happened so far that night.  
  
He took Ricky from me and carried him out to the street, with one hand on my shoulder the whole way. We stood there and listened as the siren got closer. He never said anything. Neither did I.  
  
After the ambulance pulled away, I called Dawn and Willow. Then I looked at him. He was standing at the gates, staring back into the darkness in the direction of his crypt. And there was me, still very big with the not knowing what to say.  
  
He turned. "Shall we, Slayer? Or were you thinkin' of a quick patrol, then?" His voice was casual and kind of distant. I thought maybe he was in shock. Then I realized he was waiting for me to lead him home. I took his hand. It felt very cold and dry.  
  
He didn't say another word the whole way back to the shop. When we got there, he smiled at Dawn and gave her a kiss on the forehead, and then he went into the back room and shut the door.  
  
Dawn and Willow were full of questions, which I answered the best way I could. Then we all stood around and felt Spike's pain over being forced to stake his demonic lover of over a hundred years. And then it was time to get Dawn into bed, 'cause she had an algebra test in the morning.   
  
I thought about knocking on the door, just to say 'goodnight.' And maybe, you know, 'thank you' for saving my life and probably Ricky's too. And 'sorry.' Maybe not so much for Drusilla, 'cause that would be a lie, but for the coat, anyway.  
  
But, jelly-belly struck again. Give me twenty assorted demons in close fighting quarters and I'm all over it--but save me from having to deal up close and personal with anymore angst, please. Like, ever. I feel like I've earned a lifetime reprieve.  
  
When we left, Willow was turning off the lights around the shop. Just as we were going out the door, she called to me.  
  
"Oh, Buffy! I forgot to tell you--Giles called! Guess what? He's coming back!"  
  
Sounds like great news, right? Yeah, I thought so, too.  
  
  
  
tbc 


	15. Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 1

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 1  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: I have no claim on anything having to do with BtVS-it all belongs to Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  
Summary: An alternative season 6 and 7,  
Author's Note: Book II is told entirely from Spike's point of view.  
  
So the Watcher was comin' back. Couldn't say I was surprised.   
  
Us ex-pats, we talk a good game--always pinin' for the comforts of the isle, Hail Britannica an' all that rot--but in truth, we prefer life in the Colonies, or we wouldn't stay. I love the Union Jack same as the next bloke, but I don't miss the god-awful food, nor the buggery weather. Give me a warm Southern California night with lots of moonlight by which to hunt down a platter of wings over a drizzly slog to the pub for day-old bangers an' mash anytime.  
  
But I digress. The Slayerettes were preparin' for the Watcher's return like he was the bleedin' prodigal son. I half-expected Red to go all super-Wicca again an' slaughter some poor unsuspectin' fatted calf.  
  
They asked me to help decorate for the 'welcome home' orgy. Can you bloody even believe the stones on these children? Still, it gave me somethin' to pass the time whilst my peepers finished their healin'. Don't think they much cared for the trimmins' I came up with, though. See if they go an' ask a vampire to play event coordinator again anytime soon.  
  
So there I was, on the very day of the festivities, puttin' the finishin' touches to the decor, when in toddled Harris with that smarmy grin I'd like to chew off an' spit back in his face.   
  
"Hey, Spike! How's my favorite party planner? Ya know, they have an opening down at the bridal salon for a wedding consultant--you'd be just the guy." He corked his drivel long enough to take a good look around. "Or not."  
  
Yeah, well, black's my favorite color--closely followed by red--an' I'd outdone myself on the ambience. Black streamers, black lights, blood red balloons (Niblet an' I searched all over town for just the right shade of deep crimson, and they looked like clots of O-neg lyin' about under the lights) an' the occasional well-polished femur and skull, just to punch up the color scheme.  
  
"Uh, Spike...I think you misunderstood...this looks more like 'welcome to hell' than 'welcome home.' "  
  
Then Niblet popped up from behind one of the sofas where she'd been sittin' an' makin' a banner for over the door. She held it up. 'WELCOME HOME TO THE HELLMOUTH.'   
  
"See Xander? Great minds think alike." She giggled at him in that way she has, an' he had no more complaints. Little Miss America, she is. An' nothin' like her big sis at all--unless you cross her, of course.  
  
I was hoistin' her up on my shoulder to hang the banner when who should slam into the two of us an' send us flyin' but the Slayer herself.   
  
"DAWN! What the hell...are you OK?"   
  
Niblet was pickin' herself up off the floor where she'd landed. "Jeez, Buffy, observant much?" She stooped to pick up the banner an' handed it to me. I dragged a chair over an' proceeded to hang the thing, ignorin' the Chosen One an' her shiny soft skin, an' her shiny soft hair, an' her shiny soft scent...  
  
"Uh...hi, Spike."  
  
"Slayer."  
  
"How are you?"  
  
"Pretty fair. Yourself?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Glad to hear it." Can you even believe the level of poncy banality our conversation had sunk to? It'd been like that since the lovely evening a week or so before, when I'd had the distinct pleasure of bein' forced to choose between stakin' my lover of over one hundred years or watchin' her kill...who? Who was this little chit to me, anyway, an' why did I dust Drusilla--who offered me love and a steady diet of fresh kills--to save her? She, who offered me nothing but the knowledge that I'd forever be beneath her?  
  
An' that was the question that'd hounded me nearly 'round the bend. But right then, with her so close an' all, an' obviously tryin' to be friendly, I decided to let it rest for the evenin'.  
  
"Hey, Evil Dead, that banner's crooked!" Harris was already diggin' into the refreshments.  
  
Niblet stepped back an' looked up at the banner. "Yeah, Spike, get back up there and fix it--we'll tell you when it's straight."  
  
An' so we all played a game of "a little to the right, no that's too far, a little to the left" until finally I let loose with a growl over my shoulder an' they decided the soddin' thing was straight enough. That's when I noticed that the Slayer was starin' at my arse.  
  
I watched her face 'til she glanced up an' caught my eye. I was expectin' a blush at the very least, but the saucy chit gave me a look that might've melted glass an' suddenly I was findin' my jeans a bit constrictin'. So I left the room, which is how I happened to be in the front of the shop when Rupert--  
  
What? Oh, yeah. Funny thing, that. Woke up a couple evenings after dustin' Drusilla an' there it was, in all it's considerable glory, if I do say so myself. I'm sure there's some psychological boogedy-boogedy behind it, but I can't say I cared much--neither then nor now.   
  
'Course, I didn't let on. Not somethin' you can just announce over beer an' pizza: "by the way, kiddies, did I mention that the ol' pecker's perkin'?" Trouble was, my knob seemed right determined to make up for lost time, an' I found myself sportin' a hard-on that would've knocked holes in cement at the most inopportune moments. An' if that Harris whelp had let loose with just one more Vampire Viagra joke, he might bloody well've gotten an up close an' personal view of the Big Bad. Would've shut his gob good an' proper, an' no mistake.   
  
Sorry.   
  
Anyway, that's how I happened to be in the front of the shop when the Watcher made his grand entrance. Could've knocked me over with a feather when he walked right up an' shook my hand an' slapped me on the back. All "Spike! Good to see you, old man!" he was, as if we'd been best mates an' not uneasy co-combatants these last two years. But I played along, 'cause it felt good to be treated well, an' if you tell anybody I said that I'll rip your tonsils out your navel an' give 'em as party favors at the next Slayerette get-together.   
  
Right. Sorry. I get a little tense when I think about that time. Not so long ago, really, but it FEELS like a century, an' I'm one of the few who can say that an' know what it means.  
  
So, much joyous reunion all 'round, an' I waited for whatever it was that'd brought Rupert back in such a bloody rush t'be revealed. 'Cause there was somethin' off about him, an' I might've thought it was my imagination if I hadn't caught the Slayer lookin' at him funny on more than one occasion that night.  
  
But I guess he'd decided to put off tellin' us the trouble for the sake of the party atmosphere, an' it was just as well. The Slayer an' her mates had a fine time that night, an' it was good to see her relax an' smile an' cuddle with Lil' Bit.   
  
It was somethin' to hold onto, 'cause things were about to get a bit tough again, as they've a habit of doin' on the Hellmouth. But I expect I don't need to tell you that, do I?  
  
  
  
  
tbc 


	16. Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 2

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 2  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc: please see previous chapters  
  
  
  
Speakin' of hard-ons-we were, weren't we?--I often wonder if the Powers that Be get a right monstrous one from inflictin' misery on our little band o' buggered.   
  
I've developed a nasty tendency to ruminate since the Slayer bit the big one last Spring, an' these are the things that cross my mind, particularly when I've been keepin' company with a bottle. 'Course, I'll never touch the Great Pouf when it comes to broodin', but it tickles me to imagine the PTB havin' a collective wank-off at the spectacle of our sufferin'. Somebody must be, 'cause it's too soddin' pointless if it's just random pain.  
  
Woke up the evenin' followin' the Watcher's return with a tune runnin' through my head I couldn't get rid of. Damned irritatin', an' I couldn't place it for the death of me, but I knew it had somethin' to do with--  
  
"Rise and shine, Spike! The early vamp catches the mug of nuked pig's blood!" And there came the Niblet with my breakfast. She hauled it over to the shop every evenin' like clockwork, 'though I told time an' again it wasn't necessary.   
  
My eyes were nearly a hundred percent at that point, an' it was time to be thinkin' of gettin' back to the crypt--'though I couldn't pretend to be in a great hurry to revisit the scene of Dru's untimely dusting. I think the Slayer an' her gang understood as much, 'cause there was no talk of turnin' me out of the back room. An' so I continued to take advantage of their obligin' ways, as is my custom, an' got right used to bein' catered to by Red an' her bird an' the Lil' Bit.  
  
What? You were thinkin' I'd changed that much? Not bleedin' likely.  
  
So. Sippin' my morning repast an' doin' my best to banish that bugger-some tune from my brain, an' who should pop in for a visit but the Watcher. Had somethin' to talk about, he did, 'though why he chose to unburden his benighted soul to me, I've no clue.  
  
"Spike."  
  
"Rupert."  
  
"How are you? I mean to say, your eyes? How are your eyes?"  
  
"Comin' along."  
  
"Glad to hear it. And the other...problem?"  
  
"If you're askin' whether I'm givin' the Slayer a seeing to, the answer's no."  
  
"Er...well, yes, I rather thought... There's been no improvement then?"  
  
"My danglies are in better order than yours, I'll wager, but I'll ask you to keep your gob shut about that."   
  
"Oh...but..."  
  
"Leave it, Watcher. Now, why're you here? I've a feelin' it's not to inquire after my ability to pitch a tent."  
  
"Well. Right then. Straight to the point."  
  
"That'd be good."  
  
"You may have wondered why I departed for England so suddenly, given Buffy's recent return from...that is to say, her recent return."  
  
"Can't say as I did, but go on."  
  
At that point, he took off his specs an' started in with the polishin', which is never a good sign, is it?  
  
"I had a call from the Council. They had unearthed several ancient tomes, at least one of which is the companion to the Pergamum Codex. At any rate, there is a particular passage that deals with the death and resurrection of a Chosen One. Now, at first, I thought it must be referring to another Slayer, since according to the Codex, Buffy was already supposed to be dead by the hand of the Master. But upon closer inspection, it became clear that the prophecy does in fact pertain directly to Buffy." He slipped his specs back on his face an' all of a sudden he was lookin' right elderly an' a good deal more weary than I'd ever seen him look before. Made the pig's blood I'd just put in me run like icewater.  
  
"The gist of the prophecy is this: when the Chosen One is brought forth from the afterlife, it will be without the blessing of the Powers that Be. From that time on, the Slayer will be alone in her battle against the demon dimensions."  
  
"Well, that's not news, Watcher. When have the Powers ever given our Slayer the time of day?"  
  
"This is different, Spike. Without the blessing of the Powers--be it explicit or implicit--the Slayer is left in a very vulnerable state--"  
  
"Then we'll protect her. Get Will an' Tara to do a spell--"  
  
"Spike, you must listen. There's more." He got up an' started pacin' about the room, twistin' his hands together like an' old woman. "The prophecy is quite detailed--more so than any I've ever read, in fact. It states that because the Chosen One was brought forth from the rightful home of her spirit without the blessing of the Powers, the balance has been lost. The forces of darkness will take this as a direct challenge. They will rise up--not against mankind--but directly against this affront to the balance, to the order of things. Directly against Buffy."  
  
"Christ, Rupert, what're you sayin'? The armies of hell are comin' for her?"  
  
"In a word, yes."  
  
Not much'll shut me up, you know. Next to feedin' an' shaggin' an' the odd spot of violence, I do love to run my mouth. But that did it. No snappy comebacks nor snide retorts to that bit of news.   
  
"Bloody hell."  
  
"Indeed."   
  
I knocked it about in my head for a moment or two. That soddin' tune was still there, makin' a right fine backdrop for the panic that was buildin' in me.  
  
"When?"  
  
He looked at me an' I got a bad feelin'.  
  
"It's already begun. They will come at her first through those she cares about, using enemies she knows. Your little encounter with Drusilla...I believe it was the first attack."  
  
"No! You're wrong on that score, Watcher. Drusilla was like a child...she never had it in her to--"  
  
"Never had it in her? This was the she-demon that teamed with Angelus to bring back Acathla and destroy the world. She had it in her, Spike. And she hated Buffy. I understand that you mourn her, but--"  
  
"You understand bugger-all, Rupert. Drusilla had the attention span of a gnat on crystal meth. She couldn't have planned something that complex without--"  
  
"Without help? What about the voices in her head, Spike? I expect that if the forces of darkness want something badly enough, they could easily commandeer the visions of a lunatic like Drusilla."  
  
He had a point, but I wasn't in the mood for anymore Dru-bashin'. Bad enough I'd had to stake the poor bint. Lemme tell you, pet, a century is a long time to spend with one lover. It's a might harder to get over than the average one-night shag.  
  
"Well, what of it then? I dusted her, didn't I? Saved the day, an' with no proper thanks for it, I might add. Wasn't even much of a battle, an' me with my vision impaired. If they're all like that--"  
  
"They won't be. The dark forces will start small, in order not to deplete their power unnecessarily. Whatever comes next will be harder to deal with, I assure you."  
  
An' again, I had no answer for all his doom an' gloom.  
  
"Have you told the Slayer yet?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, don't you think you bloody well should?"  
  
"Told me what?" Slayer in the doorway, lookin' for all the world like a twenty year old chit of a girl without a thing on the planet to concern her but whether or not to have her navel pierced, an' where she might find the best deal on those low-ridin' trousers she's taken to wearin'.  
  
Should've packed up what little I had that Dru hadn't torn apart an' left dear old Sunnyhell for good that night. Should've kissed her hard on the way out the door, an' never looked back.   
  
Should've.  
  
Didn't.  
  
  
  
tbc 


	17. Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 3

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: A Trick of the Light: Chapter 3.  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters  
  
  
  
You remember a while back--must be near a year ago, now--when she came to me askin' 'bout how I did those other Slayers? Remember what I told her, 'bout how they had a death wish, an' how she had one too? An' how I was just waitin' for my one good day?  
  
Rot. Every syllable. Girl never had a death wish-at least, not then. She wasn't anywhere near ready to dance, an' I knew it.  
  
But a great bloody lot's happened since then, an' when Giles dropped it on her-no prelude, just "guess what, ducks, they're comin' for you"-I saw somethin' in her face I'd seen before, but not in her.  
  
You'd be amazed how many seek it out, you know. Crikey, it's not like we can hunt at high noon in the middle of soddin' Epcot. Cover of darkness an' lonely, miserable spots are the way of it. An' yet there's never a shortage of folks amblin' by like they've all the time in the world an' no place better to spend it than in an alleyway at 3 AM on a moonless night. Can't tell me they're not lookin' for it.  
  
I've seen such expressions of relief on the faces my meals. An' I'm not talkin' 'bout cancer patients, either. I mean young, pretty people with most everythin' to live for an' a death-jones so strong they were practically beggin' me to take 'em out. An' being the generous bloke I am, I never did disappoint.  
  
Whatever boogedies chased 'em into my arms, they must've been a sight scarier than my grrr an' argh an' bumpy forehead deal.   
  
An' that's what I saw in her face in that moment, when the Watcher told her. Just a flicker of it. I doubted it, at first, mostly 'cause my eyes were still a bit foggy, but with the way it played out...   
  
But I'm gettin' ahead o' myself.  
  
Except for that one little look of yearnin' I caught, the Slayer played it real cool. Didn't seem disturbed by the news at all. In fact, I got the idea she was lookin' forward to a nice spot of violence. I know I was.   
  
Her Watcher did his bleedin' best to terrify her, of course, 'cause that's the job description: incite panic whenever possible. But she wasn't bitin' an' I was right proud of her for it.  
  
"So tell me, Giles, does your book say whether the bad guys win this time? I mean, should I consider taking out some life insurance? But maybe not, huh? Bet the premiums would be huge, with my track record."  
  
"This is hardly the time for humor, Buffy. You must be ready--"  
  
"Bring it on. I just want to know where I stand. So tell me what the book says about my chances."  
  
Watcher had his specs off again. "The prophecy is unclear as to the outcome of the battle. It states only that the legions of darkness will continue to rise against you until balance has been restored."  
  
Rupert nattered on a bit more, but she wasn't hearing him.   
  
"Buffy? I...I should go."  
  
"Where? Back to England?"  
  
"No! No, I meant I should go back to my hotel room. I'm expecting a call from the Council at any time with new information."  
  
"Oh. The Council. Give them my love, won't you?"   
  
"Er...yes, of course..." He backed out of the room, lookin' like maybe he'd had somethin' more to say.  
  
An' then we were by ourselves, for the first time since the night I staked Dru. Made me a bit twitchy, bein' alone with her, but she didn't seem bothered by it.   
  
"Slayer?"  
  
She jumped an' that's when I realized she'd forgotten I was there.   
  
Once upon a time, I was the Big Bad. No mortal ever forgot me--if he lived to recall encounterin' me in the first place. But right then I felt about as memorable as the soddin' sofa upon which she was resting her pretty arse.  
  
"Yeah? I mean, what?" I forgave her, of course, 'cause she was lookin' a might pole-axed from the recent revelations.  
  
"Tell me, pet, d'you ever get weary of hearin' the news of your imminent demise?" Tryin' to keep the atmosphere light, you understand. She gave me a half-smile that I couldn't read right off.  
  
"Yeah, I do. Especially when there's nothing I can do but sit around and wait for them to come for me."  
  
"Don't worry, Slayer--the Watcher an' the witches'll get it all sorted out. It's not like we haven't faced hell before."  
  
"We? WE? When did WE face hell, Spike? Isn't it pretty much always just ME?"  
  
Wasn't expectin' a temper tantrum, but it was a bloody sight better'n the pinin'-for-death routine, so I gave it a go.  
  
"Feelin' sorry for yourself, Slayer? That's not like you. Must be gettin' soft."  
  
"Oh, look who's talking--the Self Pity King. Feel sorry for me, take care of me, I can't bite, I can't see, I can't--"  
  
"You wanna shut your soddin' mouth, Slayer." I had her by the arms an' dragged her up 'til we were nose to nose. Any second I was expectin' the bloody chip to fry me, but it barely squeaked. An' when I caught the scent of her, I knew why.  
  
I dropped her an' backed away.   
  
Sad, inn'it? How long have I been chasin' Slayer's tail? Longer than you might think. An' every instinct my demon ever had was screamin' at me to take what she was offering.  
  
Couldn't do it. Felt wrong.  
  
Now, I know what you're thinkin'. You're thinkin' that with all the time I've spent with the White Hats, an' playin' for the home team, I must be growing a soul or some such piffle. I'm not. I'd know if I was about to turn into some lame clone of the Great Pouf. I'd know--an' I'd stake myself.  
  
Just so we're clear.  
  
So I'm backin' away an' she starts comin' at me, an' for all that she smells like a cat in heat, she's comin' with a kick to my head. An' that's fine by me.   
  
We ranged all 'round that room. Broke all but one lamp an' Buffy put a hole in the wall over the telly. 'Course, she kicked the shit outta me, an' I never put a hand on her, but that was fine.   
  
It finished with me sprawled on my arse an' her with a stake at my heart--a favorite position of mine. She held it there for a count of three an'--match over.   
  
"I'm out of shape. That wasn't as easy as it should've been."  
  
"Gettin' old, Slayer. Past your prime." Got an elbow in the gut for that one.  
  
"Do you want to--would you train with me? I mean, I've got to get ready for whatever's coming."  
  
Speechless twice in two hours--a personal record. "Er...."  
  
"I mean, you don't have to--but I thought you might want to start earning your keep around here."  
  
"Right. As if my wit an' charm weren't compensation enough."  
  
"Tomorrow? Sundown?"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"My basement. Be prepared to hurt, Spike." She gave me her best cheerleader smile an' then she was out the door.  
  
"Hurt's all I do 'round you, pet."   
  
She was right. I'd turned into quite the wanker--who else would actually say somethin' like that out loud?   
  
  
  
tbc 


	18. Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 4

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 4  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters  
  
  
  
  
Damn shame 'bout the duster. Feel half starkers walkin' 'round without it. But if it had to go, it's best that it went with Drusilla. Like sheddin' my skin, or some such bollocks--out with the old, in with the new. A snake's still a snake though, in'nit?  
  
I was on my way to Slayer's house, missin' my coat an' how it always made me seem a larger bloke than I am--sorta filled me out, you know? An' the wind was whippin' 'round like it fancied tearin' up the very trees--a weird night, an' I've seen some in my time.  
  
She was waitin' for me at the end of Revello, dressed for kickin' arse.  
  
"No trainin' tonight, Slayer? Thought you might fancy a go."  
  
"Not tonight. I'm getting an early start on patrol. Something's up, can't you feel it?"  
  
"Yeah, somethin's a might kinky."   
  
"You look like you could use some time off anyway, Bruise Boy."  
  
She'd been usin' me for a punchin' bag nearly every night for two weeks at that point, all pent up an' tense from waitin' on the first assault. Not knowin' which direction it'd be comin' from, or what to expect. I had bruises that never healed an' a split lip or a black eye all the bloody time. Fond recollections.  
  
"So. I should probably get going." I knew what she was after, but I wasn't about to make it easy for her. Where's the fun in that?  
  
"Right then."  
  
"You, um... you wouldn't want to patrol with me, would you?"  
  
I didn't answer, just nodded, an' we started toward the cemetery.   
  
"Are you up for it? I mean, your eyes--"  
  
"My vision's nearly a hundred percent, Slayer, which I believe I told you last time you inquired."  
  
"OK, fine. Just don't get in my way." She was baiting me, but I was busy with other things--like how with every step we took nearer the bone-yard, my instincts screamed a bit louder to turn tail an' run. Somethin' was waitin' on us, an' my demon wanted no part of it, whatever the fuck it was.  
  
We stopped at the gate an' she looked at me. She felt it too.  
  
"Stay close, Spike, and don't go all heroic on me. Just watch my back, OK?"  
  
Bossy bitch, inn't she? I kept my gob shut, though, an' followed her through the gates. The stench hit us within a few yards--a truly foul odor like I've never known, an' I lived in a bleedin' crypt, for pity's sake. The breeze picked up again, lashin' the trees about an' blowin' the smell away, but whatever was there was stayin' put.   
  
We stood back to back an' waited for it to make it's move. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught somethin' dark gliding low to the ground. It didn't seem quite solid, an' it fairly pulsed with a bad vibe. Made a vampire's skin crawl, so you know it was all about evil--the real thing, the thing that makes that hell-bitch Glory look small town, an' makes the likes of yours truly look like a soddin' Sunday School teacher.   
  
"Incoming, Slayer--you see it?"  
  
"Yeah, I got it...what the hell is that?"  
  
"Don't know--stinks like a mother, though, don't it?"  
  
"Where'd it go?"  
  
"Have a care, Slayer, on your left--"  
  
She leveled a kick at it, but she was a fraction too slow. Then it was above us, hoverin' like the original black cloud. 'Cept right then I could see somethin' that looked to be eyes an' maybe a mouth...   
  
"Spike!"  
  
"Wha--what..."  
  
It was smilin' at me. It had fangs rather like mine, but not nearly as pretty. A snout like a pig, an' scraggly hair hangin' all in it's face, an' its eyes were just filled to the bloody brim with wicked intent...an' maggots.  
  
Did I ever mention how I hate maggots? No? Lemme tell you, luv, it's a right huge phobia of mine. Don't laugh. That demon bint of Xander's goes off like a teakettle at the sight of a rabbit--but maggots? Now there's a destructive force that's been altogether underestimated, to my way of thinkin'.  
  
"Spike! What is it? What're you staring at?"  
  
It was movin' in fast, comin' right up in my face, an' I was frozen to the spot.  
  
"Spike! Look at me!" Then she swung, her right fist connectin' hard with my left temple, an' I was down for the count.  
  
When I came to, it was with my head in her lap. You'd think I'd take half a mo' to enjoy it, but my pride was bent in two.  
  
"Just lie still, Spike. I didn't hurt you, did I?"  
  
"No! Just restin' is all. Lemme up, Slayer."  
  
"What did you see? I mean, there wasn't anything there, but then you went all Statue Vamp--"  
  
"Tricks."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"They're makin' with the smoke an' mirrors. An' I fell for it...'though how in bloody hell they knew about the maggots--"  
  
"OK, I'm again with the HUH?"  
  
"It was nothin', Slayer, just the Black Hats crawlin' 'round in my head lookin' to give me a fright. Cor, if THAT'S the best they can do--"  
  
An' then the stench was back, twice as strong as before, an' all of a sudden there was a great lot of those low dark shapes flittin' just beyond the reach of the light from the street. I fancied it a good time to make a strategic retreat.  
  
I grabbed her arm an' dragged her back towards the gate. She fought me, more out of habit than a real desire to hang about, I think.  
  
"What the hell, Spike?! I have to go back in there and--"  
  
"Lower your voice, Slayer!" We were on the street by then, but things weren't looking any too reassurin'. There was a smokey taste in the air, an' I got the distinct impression we weren't alone.   
  
"Screw that! I came out here tonight to face this--I'm tired of waiting for it to come after me. This is it, Spike."  
  
"No, Slayer, this is bloody well NOT IT.We're overmatched an' we haven't a clue what we're dealin' with here. I won't let you--"  
  
"You won't LET me? Since when does the Slayer take orders from Evil Dead? I'm going back in there, and if you try to stop me--"  
  
"FINE! Go, then! But go alone, 'cause some poor sod's got to be here to explain to Dawn how her big sis loved her so much she couldn't wait to run off an' get herself killed--AGAIN!"  
  
Yeah, I know. But it stopped her, didn't it?  
  
"I hate you."  
  
"Good on ya, luv. It's mutual."  
  
We were toe to toe on the sidewalk, an' she was spittin' fire, but then the wind shifted again. The air turned rank, an' there were shadows where there ought not to have been, an' too many of 'em. An' Slayer's brain finally caught up with her gob.  
  
We took off runnin' towards the shop as if Ol' Nick himself was right behind--an' for all I know, he might've been. Once inside, we bolted her up tight an' settled in for a siege.   
  
Never came. Reckon one of Will's protection spells kicked in an' kept whatever it was at bay. Slayer called home to let the witches know they'd need to spend the night with Niblet, an' then it was just us.  
  
We retired to my lair--a.k.a. the back room--an' chewed on stale popcorn an' watched a bit of telly. When she started yawnin' an' stretchin', I did the gentlemanly thing an' offered her my sofa, which was the largest an' softest of the lot.  
  
"Thanks. Um...I didn't mean what I said before. About, you know, hating you."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No. But you aren't exactly Mr. Easy to Get Along With, either."  
  
"Part an' parcel of my irresistible charm, pet."  
  
"Yeah. Well. Um..."  
  
"Spit it out, Slayer."  
  
"I know you said your eyes were almost all better."  
  
"That they are."  
  
"And that's great. Really great. But I was just wondering, you know, if the other thing...the other problem...is fixed yet."  
  
She looked so hopeful. Like maybe bumpin' tummies with me was the answer to all her troubles. Yet another boatload of manly responsibility she laid at my feet, only this time I wasn't up to the task.   
  
Don't misunderstand--I could've shagged her senseless an' made all her problems melt away for a little bit. But I'm not anyone's salvation, an' when the bloom wore off we'd be back at square one, only with her hatin' me for lettin' her down.  
  
An' to be honest, I didn't fancy bein' just a solution to a problem for her. Maybe before--before she went away an' came back again--I would've jumped at the chance. But things were different. I was wrong when I told Peaches that demons don't change. I'm a bloody walkin' advert for demonic transformation these days, much as I hate to cop to it.  
  
"Er...Slayer..."  
  
"Oh."   
  
She looked right done in by disappointment, an' it took it outta me to deny her the miracle that is me in the sack, but I had to do it, you know?  
  
"Yeah, it...er..."  
  
"It still doesn't...I mean, you can't..."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I'm sorry, Spike. That really sucks."  
  
"You've no idea, luv."  
  
"Well, maybe we could just...you know...cuddle?"  
  
I closed my eyes an' took one of those deep un-needed breaths I'm apparently known for, an' when I opened 'em again, she'd turned away.  
  
"Slayer..."  
  
"No, it's OK. It's not fair, me using you as a teddy bear. Forget it."  
  
"Buffy--"  
  
She turned back an' gave me a real winner of a smile. Cor, she's a pretty thing, inn't she? An' right then, my resolve was none too firm--unlike another part I could name.  
  
She bunked down on the sofa an' I took a spot on the floor under a blanket. I listened to her breathin' get slow an' deep, an' then I unzipped myself--just to relieve a bit of the pressure, you understand. An' then I lay there, starin' at the ceilin' 'til I could taste the sunrise comin', an' at some point I slept, an' then I dreamt.   
  
Feedin', fightin' an' fuckin'--that's pretty much the extent of my vocabulary when it comes to dreams. An' of late, it's been a rare one that hasn't begun or ended--or both--with me balls deep in the Slayer's quim. But this one was different.  
  
I knew this 'cause whilst foreplay's a right lovely little ritual when you're shaggin' in the flesh, it's not a necessity when it's just you an' your subconscious havin' a wank, so I generally skip it altogether an' go straight for the good bits. This time, though, Slayer was still fully dressed when the pictures in my brain started up, an' we were actually having a conversation.   
  
She was tellin' me she wanted me, an' needed me, an' I know what you're thinkin'--pathetic tosser's finally lost it. An' I would agree, except considerin' the way it's turned out...  
  
It wasn't long before we were out of our clothes an' things were progressin' at a right nice pace. I had her under me an' I was inside her, makin' her squirm, an' moan, an' whisper my name, an' I was talkin' to her, telling her things I'd never had the stones to say to her face.  
  
"Buffy...feelin' you...feelin' you beneath me...surroundin' me...your scent..."  
  
But there was somethin' off about that--I'd heard it before, or somethin' very like it, but I couldn't place it. An' then that bloody tune started up again, louder than before, an' the faster an' harder I fucked her, the louder it played 'til I was right on the edge, an ' I opened my eyes to look at her an'--  
  
She wasn't Buffy anymore. She was a corpse, an' not a fresh one, either.  
  
Yeah, I know, I did Dru for a century-plus an' she was as dead as they come--no pun intended--but it's not the same as lookin' down into rotted out eyes an' a gapin' maw...an' maggots...again with the soddin' maggots...  
  
Enough to put a bloke off shaggin' for good an' all.  
  
I must've made some awful sound before I woke, 'cause she was there, bendin' over me, her face the very portrait of concern. That is, until she noticed the rather prominent tent I'd pitched beneath the blanket. Apparently, not even a spot of necrophilia most foul is enough to discourage my knob.  
  
"You lied to me? Why would you do that, Spike?"   
  
"Slayer, I--"  
  
"You know, you could've just told me. You could've just said 'look Buffy, I'm not interested'."  
  
"But--"  
  
"I trusted you, you know? Of all the people around me, I trusted you to tell me the truth."  
  
"Buffy--"  
  
She gave me a last look that screamed 'kicked puppy' an' then she was out of the room an' the shop an' into the bright sunshine before I could stop her.  
  
I said it then, an' I'll say it now.  
  
Bugger.  
  
  
  
  
tbc 


	19. Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 5

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 6  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc: please see previous chapters  
  
  
  
"I don't get it, Buffy--why're you so mad at Spike all of a sudden?"  
  
"I'm not mad, Dawn. I just think it's time he moved back to his crypt. It's not like he's still wounded--he's fine. Believe me, he's fine. He's just taking advantage of the situation now, which is SO like him. I bet Willow agrees with me, don't you Will?"  
  
Mighty hard to catch a good day's sleep 'round that place. Must've slipped their minds that I can hear quite well through a hollow door at ten paces.  
  
"I don't know, Buffy. I mean, think of everything that's happened to him there--the whole scratching out of the eyes and the staking of Drusilla. It might be cruel to--"  
  
"Cruel? We're talking about Spike here, remember? He loves cruel. He lives for cruel. It'll probably give him a huge, rock-hard happy."  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
"Sorry. He goes."  
  
An' they'd have listened to her, of course, 'cause she's the Slayer, the Chosen One, the Big Bloody Bollocks 'round here. But I didn't intend to give 'em the chance to throw me out on my arse.  
  
"Well, OK, but tomorrow, all right? I mean, tonight's the big celebration!"  
  
"Celebration?"  
  
"Yeah! Xander's finally finished his court-ordered community service for the whole lewd conduct thing. I know I told you about it--we're watching videos, and Tara's making bean dip, and you were supposed to bring the sparkling cider--don't you remember?  
  
"Sorry, Will. Guess I got a little too caught up in the trivia of trying to stay alive."  
  
It was a treat to know I wasn't the only one on the receivin' end of her sharp little tongue. Girl can be a right bitch when she's a mind to.  
  
"So we're agreed? Spike can stay for the party?"  
  
"Yeah, fine, whatever. If it means that much to you, he can stay one more night. But then it's back to the boneyard with the rest of the dead guys. I gotta go. See you later."  
  
I heard the front door slam.   
  
It'd only been six hours since the Debacle of the Morning Stiffy, an' already she'd written me off. Hell hath no fury an' all that rot. It proved to me that all of her sudden sweetness an' light was really about gettin' her nut off with the handiest male about. Drusilla'd been right--I was bein' kept as a pet, an' my mistress was about to send me to the pound. But not if I slipped my leash first.  
  
"Spike? You awake?"   
  
It was the Niblet, lookin' none too cheerful.  
  
"You heard what Buffy said, didn't you?"  
  
"I expect that was her intention, pet."  
  
"I don't get why she's being such a bitch--"  
  
"Here! That's no way to talk about your big sis, luv, even if--"  
  
"Even if it's true?"  
  
I was gonna miss the little chit. She was the most forthright human I'd run across in a long time--assumin' you fancied her to be human at all, I suppose. But whatever she was, the monks did a right fine job on her, an' the thought of not seein' her on a regular basis was a bit jarrin'.  
  
"S'OK, Platelet, the Slayer's right about this one. It's time I moved on."  
  
"But I can still come visit you, right? I mean, once you're back in your crypt?"  
  
"Hmmm...Buffy might have somethin' to say 'bout that, luv, what with all this new bollocks 'bout the dark forces risin'. Prob'ly best you stick close to home an' hearth."  
  
"But--"  
  
A knock at the door cut her off.   
  
"Spike? I'd like to speak with you about what you experienced last night in the cemetery." It was the Watcher, in full 'let's-all-study-the-phenomena' mode. Just what I bloody well didn't need at that point.  
  
"Which is my cue to leave, right?"  
  
"Go on with you, Niblet. Shouldn't be wastin' a perfectly good Saturday hangin' about with geezers like us." She bussed me on the cheek on her way out, sayin' she'd see me later that night. I didn't bother to contradict her.  
  
"Well, Rupert, what can I tell you that the Slayer didn't?"   
  
"Buffy mentioned that at one point you seemed transfixed by something--something that she couldn't see at all. Is that accurate?"  
  
"Yeah, it's true enough. She told you 'bout all those shadowy buggers flittin' 'round us, I take it?"  
  
"Yes, and she mentioned a very strong odor as well. But I'm most interested in what you were able to see that was invisible to Buffy."  
  
"I suspect it was a treat reserved just for me, Rupert, an' I doubt its havin' much meaning beyond the fact that whatever we're dealin' with can parse out what gives us the collywobbles an' use it against us."  
  
"Hmmm...not a particularly comforting idea, that."  
  
Watcher has a somethin' of a gift for understatement, don't he?   
  
"I understand that you and Buffy have been training together of late."  
  
"Yeah. But--"  
  
"I think that's very wise. She needs to sharpen her skills against a worthy opponent. I hope you'll continue."  
  
I almost told him that as much as I enjoyed sparrin' with the Slayer, I fancied those days to be over, courtesy of one badly timed hard-on.   
  
Then he left me, an' I settled in to wait for sundown, figurin' I'd slip out with the light an' no one would notice until it was time for the whelp's party.   
  
Can't say the hours exactly flew by. Tried to sleep, but my mind kept circlin' the trouble at hand: I loved the dozy bint an' she'd never love me. Not a new problem, but infinitely engagin' on a level that twisted my guts an' fucked with my head 'til Mr. Sunshine just beyond the back door started lookin' mighty appealing.  
  
When the time came, I made it quick. Left with one bag of blood an' one blanket. Slipped out the back an' took the long way 'round to the cemetery on the chance that the Slayer or her mates might be about.   
  
Was in the process of salvagin' what very little Dru hadn't managed to tear up when guess who kicked in the door an' stood there like she couldn't decide whether to stake me or fuck me?   
  
Good on ya, luv. Got it in one.  
  
"Slayer. To what do I owe--"  
  
"Can the crap, Spike. Why aren't you at the party?"  
  
"I got the feelin' I'd worn out my welcome, pet. Got that feelin' from you, as a matter of fact."  
  
"Very perceptive. But now Dawn's having a fit because you left and she blames me, so we're going back and you're going to explain to her how none of this is my fault. Let's go."  
  
"Cor, Slayer, you want me to tell little sis that you threw me out 'cause I wouldn't shag you? Don't you think she's a bit young--"  
  
"Oh, you're just huge with the funny tonight, aren't you? And besides, I never threw you out--"  
  
"Right. Just stood outside my door an' squalled like a bleedin' hellcat 'bout how it was time for me to move my sorry arse outta your domain. But I was supposed to hang about 'til you made it official, is that it?"  
  
That shut her gob, briefly. Then: "We have to figure out a way to get along, Spike. Dawn and the others are fond of you--"  
  
"An' you, Slayer? Aren't you FOND of me anymore? Or were you ever?"  
  
"Look who's talking."  
  
We stared each other down. I wanted nothin' more in the soddin' universe than to break an' tell her I loved her an' always would, an' then get to work shaggin' her lights out. But my pride was whisperin' in my ear, all in accents of Drusilla, tellin' me that she'd only use me 'til she found some bloke she could really love, some bloke with the undeniable advantage of possessin' a pulse-an' a soul, o' course.  
  
Finally, she dropped her eyes an' I knew I'd won.   
  
"Tell the Lil' Bit that she can come visit whenever she wants--the others too, if they've a mind to. But tell 'em to come by daylight, at least 'til we take out whatever's plaguin' this place."  
  
"You...you'll keep working with us?"  
  
Now, that stung a bit. She really fancied me quittin' the home team 'cause I'd lost my original incentive? Must've thought me quite the unreliable fellow. Might've had somethin' to do with all those times I'd tried to kill her, I s'pose.  
  
"I promised to protect your little sis until the end of time, Slayer. Besides, wherever you are, there's bound to be a fight--an' who am I to turn down a nice spot of violence?"  
  
That almost got a smile.  
  
"Now toddle on back to your mates an' tell 'em I'm right as spring rain, an' they're welcome to pop over as soon as I get the place back in shape."  
  
She looked 'round an' I could see the pity in her eyes.  
  
"Spike--"  
  
"Leave it, Slayer. That horse is dead."  
  
She left without another word.  
  
That night I brooded, wishin' hard for somethin' to take my mind off my troubles. When day came I slept, an' dreamt of me an' the Slayer dancin' to that soddin' tune that hadn't left my brain in weeks. When I woke, I could almost remember the name of it, an' a word or two of the lyrics, but then I forgot again when the distractions started flyin' thick an' fast.  
  
Should be more careful what I wish for.  
  
  
  
  
tbc 


	20. Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 6

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 6  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R-WARNING: This chapter contains potentially disturbing imagery.   
Disclaimer, etc.: please see previous chapters  
  
  
  
Regret's a funny thing, in'nit?   
  
There's a few things in my unlife I wish I hadn't done-top of the list bein' that little foray into cattle prods an' bondage that played out in my crypt last winter. That an' the 'bot, o' course-not my finest hours, and I'm man enough to admit it. But then again, if it'd turned out differently-if the Slayer'd been a bit less resistant to the whole concept...  
  
Then there's the sins of omission--wishin' I'd been more quick or clever when it counted, but you've heard all that, too, I reckon.  
  
All o' those will fade with time, I expect, especially since I wouldn't be here if I hadn't gone there, if you know what I mean.  
  
But there's a couple of things that've stuck with me from back in the day-back when me an' the Scourge of Europe were livin' high and havin' ourselves a time. You need to understand, I was a newborn then. Did stuff with no good reason other than 'I can' or 'I want to'. After gettin' the metaphorical shit kicked outta me all my life as that pussy William, I was ready to raise Satan himself if the pay-off was sweet enough.   
  
O' course, Drusilla was mad as any inmate at Bedlam, even then, so you can hardly hold her accountable-well, you can, but it ain't fair. That's a sore spot. Best we leave it alone.  
  
Whether Angelus or Darla had any excuse for their misbehavior-well, I don't rightly know. Didn't ask questions at the time, just figured the torture and mayhem was part of the game, 'though I never got any thrill from hearin' some poor chit shriekin' her head off whilst Angelus chewed her up. The blood stayed warm an' sweet a fair time after they were dead or unconscious, so I didn't see much point in inflicting extra pain. Unless, of course, there was some personal grudge... William the Bloody, an' all that. I can sorta forgive myself the rest. I'm a predator, after all. Does a tiger go lookin' for redemption? How 'bout a grizzly or a hawk?  
  
But there was this one night...   
  
It was comin' down sleet, and the sidewalks were all ice, and dirty water fixin' t'be ice. The swells were all tucked up warm an' safe-nothin' stirring at all, save for what they nowadays call the 'homeless'. Back then we called 'em street scum. Rarely made a good meal. Now don't come over all PC on me-d'ya wanna hear the story or not?  
  
Anyway, I was on a mission: bring home supper for m'lord and ladies. As the newest turned-must've been ten years at that point-I got all the dirty work, includin' hunting in foul weather.   
  
So I came upon a little chit all bundled up in an alleyway. Couldn't've been more'n eighteen, an' likely younger-though not as young as the Lil' Bit, or so I like to tell myself.   
  
She was expectin'-had a huge, great belly that barely fit inside her skirts. And I thought-two for the price of one.   
  
I know, all right? Bloody hell, I started off talkin' 'bout regret, dinn't I?   
  
I remember tryin' to rationalize it a bit-tellin' myself she an' her brat would likely freeze or starve anyway, and we could at least make it quick for 'em. So I sidled up to her an' offered her a meal an' a warm place to sleep. She must've been right desperate, 'cause she took me up on it in the blink of an eye.  
  
So I took her home. Lemme tell ya, I was the popular lad *that* night. Thought for a moment the Snow Bitch might even crack a smile in my direction.  
  
But what happened after...   
  
There was some talk of keepin' her 'round 'til she delivered her little git. That was Dru's idea-I think she wanted to have the baby as a pet. Not that the Dynamic Duo would've allowed that, but they were fixin' to send me back out to fetch somethin' else, an' I was complainin' 'bout the weather. Now I wish I'd just shut me gob and gone. 'Cause then they changed their minds.  
  
Darla was sittin' with the girl by the fire, feedin' her broth from a china cup. To see it, you'd think she was the madonna herself, all concerned an' full of the milk of human kindness, instead of the blood of the stable boy she'd had for tea.  
  
Don't know what was in the broth-must've been somethin' Drusilla concocted, some herb an' fairy dust to make her sleep. Or maybe it was just laudanum. Don't matter now, didn't matter then. In half an' hour, she was out cold, an' they commenced to cuttin'.  
  
Would it help if I told you they used a sharp knife to make it quick? Would it matter if I said the girl never knew...never woke up 'til the very end, when the baby was already dead? If I said she didn't understand, was too groggy from the drug an' nearly dead herself from the blood loss...would you believe it?   
  
No?   
  
There's no foolin' you, is there, ducks?  
  
'Bout all I can say for myself is that when it came my turn to feed, I couldn't quite manage it. They snickered at me, the three of 'em, whilst they took turns with the brat. And then when she lifted her head, askin' after her baby, Darla showed it to her. Or what was left of it.   
  
That's when I took myself away, off to my room in the attic. 'Cause the poor chit looked straight at me, you know. Over the little carcass, straight into my eyes, and I felt branded by it. I've never had an entirely peaceful day's rest since... she always comes back to me, usually just as I'm driftin' off, to remind me that I'm a fiend. To help me recollect why I'll always be beneath the Slayer's notice, however much she thinks she wants to shag me.  
  
So. Regrets. Yeah, I've had a few.  
  
But enough with the reminiscin', right? You're not here to listen to me talk about all that bollocks, you're here to find out what happened, an' I'm here to tell it, so...  
  
Those distractions I mentioned? They're right 'round the bend, but first I was treated to a visit by Monkey Boy an' his bint the followin' afternoon. An' speakin' of her, ever wonder how it is that a used-to-be demon with over a millennium of torture and destruction and death under her belt gets a free pass with the Slayer an' her mates? Just 'cause she sucked up a soul somewhere along the way. Guess that makes all the difference, don't it? Damned if I know why.  
  
"Love the new decor, Spike. Not exactly Pottery Barn, but a definite improvement over the whole 'trashed by deranged ex-girlfriend' thing you had going on." Smug prat. Like to show him what 'deranged' really means. Some day, I swear it on the Niblet's eyes...  
  
"What d'you want, Harris?"  
  
"What, no 'welcome to my humble abode, pull up a rotting corpse and make yourself at home'? Gee, Spike, where's the love?"  
  
Then Greedy Girl pipes up, "Come on, Xander, I've got to get back. I left Tara in charge and you know how she is. She'll give the store away to the first loser with a pathetic story about a love-spell-gone-wrong."  
  
"Right. This is the deal, Spike: Giles has a fifty bucks with your name on it if you'll come help us research tonight, and then patrol with Buffy later." He stood there lookin' at me like he'd just offered me the keys to the bloody kingdom.  
  
I was gob-smacked. I hadn't taken money from that lot in nearly a year, an' I was right insulted. Didn't let on, though, 'cause after all, a little dosh can only be a good thing, an' a bloke does need to eat.  
  
"Yeah, all right, tell him I'll be there. But as for patrollin'...are you sure the Slayer...I mean, did she say--"  
  
"Actually, Giles didn't let her say much of anything. But she's not happy. What'd you do to her, anyway?"  
  
"Me? Nothin'. Nothin' at all." Truer words I'd never spoken.  
  
When they toddled off to do whatever it is they do when they're not annoyin' me, I settled down for a late afternoon nap, 'cause I had a feelin' it was likely t'be a long night.   
  
  
  
tbc 


	21. Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 7

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 7  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see previous chapters.  
  
  
So that's how I found myself in the alley behind the shop just after sundown. Was a mite nervous, as I hadn't laid eyes on the Slayer in almost a week, and I hadn't a soddin' clue what was expected of me. Research? Since when did that lot ask the likes o' me to do research?   
  
Yeah, all right, so I know a few demon languages. And a few non-demon ones as well, but my Latin's rusty at best an' I always found Greek too bleedin' contrary in its conjugation...  
  
Not the point, though. They'd called me in, they wanted my help--an' it beat sittin' 'round the crypt waitin' for the love of my unlife to show up an' stomp on my poncy git of a heart again.   
  
So. I'm standin' in the alley, having a final smoke, when I hear voices through the back door-Red an' her bird, the sweet-natured one that used to read Donne t'me before the lights came back on...the one with the nice tits whose name I can never quite recall.  
  
Tara. Right. Like from that flick with the bint who chased some poufter that didn't love her through the length of your Civil War. Never understood why she wouldn't just take what that other bloke was offerin'--good money, great sex and no guilt for not bein' a paragon of virtue.   
  
An' again, I digress.   
  
Seems Red an' her bird were havin' a bit of a go. Raised voices an' shrill accusations-pretty amusing, under different circumstances. Then the door banged open, an'...the one that isn't Red...Tara, right... shot out into the alley, an' headed straight for the corner, and leveled a kick at a trash bin. Then she stood there pantin' an' twitchin', an' givin' off little sparks that made the hairs on the back of me neck stand up an' sing.  
  
"Here, now-what's all this?" Tossed my fag away an' walked up to her cautious an' slow-like. She'd always struck me as bein' a lot more powerful than she looked...still waters an' an all that rot...so I wasn't for makin' any quick moves whilst she was seemin' like she could fry the asphalt with a funny look.   
  
"Spike! What are you-I mean, I d-didn't see you there."  
  
"Reckon you didn't, luv."  
  
"I... I... " She sputtered on some, hid her face in her hands, an' burst out bawlin'.  
  
Felt at a bit of a loss right then. Don't get much call to comfort damsels in distress anymore... not since me an' Dru parted ways. An' generally speakin', all it took to distract HER was a nice, messy kill an' a round of 'connect the blood spatters' to finish off the evenin'. Good times.  
  
"Ahhh....pet? Somethin' I can help with or...?"   
  
"No...no, I'm sorry. It's just-Willow wants to--she... and I..."  
  
"I... errrr...is this kind of an... ahhh... intimate kind of...errr..." Crikey. I was turnin' into the soddin' Watcher right where I stood, an' it was bloody terrifyin'.   
  
"No! It's not that. It's...it's...I promised not to tell... but what if..." She took a deep breath and shook herself hard, which made her tits bounce 'round a bit, an' that was pleasant enough... yeah, I know, I'm a blighter, what of it?  
  
"Willow's found another translation of that prophetic text. It contradicts the Council's interpretation. She's afraid to tell Giles-afraid he'll show it to the Council. Because Willow thinks the Council is actually... she thinks..."  
  
"Red thinks the Council's out to finish the Slayer, don't she?"   
  
She nodded, an' sorta hugged herself, as if the very thought of it gave her a chill. Have to admit, it wasn't good news, but I can't say I was too surprised. Bloody Council an' their bloody control issues-willin' t'bet they were glad to hear 'bout the Slayer takin' the plunge, an' right pissed off to discover that she'd crawled back outta her grave. Couldn't ever quite get a grip on our girl... couldn't bend her to their will, and now they saw their chance...   
  
"Why don't Red trust the Watcher, then?"  
  
She flinched away from me, an' I realized that I might've gotten a bit fangy an' grrr-thinkin' of Buffy bein' threatened by that pack o' sac-less wonders made me a mite testy. I shook off the bumpies an' took better hold of myself.  
  
"It...it's not that she doesn't trust him so much as... well... he DID go back there without even telling us why... He never even warned Buffy."  
  
"But Will can't be thinkin' he's in league with them witless wankers-"  
  
"Oh, no, of course not... she's just... she's..."  
  
"Got some doubts regardin' Rupert's judgment, does she?"  
  
She looked at me like a puppy that'd had its nose whomped with the business end of fly swatter, an' nodded.  
  
"The meeting's about to start, Spike. I should get in there. I... I promised Willow I wouldn't say anything about what she found, so you can't--"  
  
"She don't even plan on tellin' the Slayer?"  
  
"Eventually... I mean, she just wants some more time to figure out what it all means."  
  
"But time's one thing we've not got a great lot of... An' Will knows it too-or she bloody well ought to."   
  
Right then, Red poked her head out the door. Her face had that hard look it gets when she's made up her mind about something, and it got harder when she spied me an' her bird havin' a bit of private convo.  
  
"Come on, you guys, we're starting."  
  
I followed the two of 'em into the building an' took up a spot in the corner, as far away from the Slayer as I could get. She didn't look at me. Uppity bint.  
  
I sat there, playin' with a fag I didn't dare light, for nearly half an hour. Watched Harris stuff his face with pastry, an' listened to the lot of 'em go 'round about 'tactics' and 'probable courses of action in the event of a large-scale strike by the nether forces'... Rupert can be a right trotting ponce when he gets those great squishy frontal lobes of his a'flexin'. By the time Willow piped up, offerin' to hit the books an' have a go at a stronger protection spell for the shop and the house on Revello, I'd reached my limit.  
  
"Sounds lovely, pet. An' while you're at it, why don't you see if you can't scare up a new lead or two, eh? Somethin' enlightening--maybe on the order of a different translation for this bloody prophecy that's got us all arse over tits?"  
  
Red's face was a picture. Almost funny, it was. And then the Watcher started in.  
  
"Spike, I hardly think it will benefit us to waste precious time searching for differing interpretations of the prophecy. After all, the one we're working with comes directly from the Council, and one can hardly expect to do better than-"  
  
"Right. 'Cause the Council wouldn't ever feed us anythin' that wasn't bang on, would they?" I turned to Red, then. Her face was the same shade as her hair, an' her eyes were sparkin' warning shots in my direction. "What d'you think, Will? Would the hallowed Watcher's Council, bane of all boogedies, an' very best mate and supporter of our Slayer here, ever have one over on us? A bit o' fun, a jolly prank... just to see if they could make the Slayer go away again... p'raps permanently this time?"  
  
The Watcher'd whipped his specs off an' was workin' up a fine head o' steam, but before he could open his gob he shot a glance at Willow, an' something in her expression stopped him cold.  
  
"Go on, then, Red. Tell it. It's time." I met her witchy, gonna-turn-you-into-something-small-and-slimy look head on, and she dropped her eyes.  
  
"Ummm...Giles? I was going to say something. I just wanted to make sure I was reading it correctly. I HAD to make sure. You understand, right?" Then I felt bad, 'cause she was getting' all teary and the other witch-Tara-went over and laid her hand on Red's arm, an' Red shook it off without even lookin' up.   
  
Harris woke up from his sugar coma about then. "OK, wait a minute. What's Evil Dead saying? The Council's been telling us stuff that's not so big with the true? And how would he know, anyway?"   
  
An' then it became a right balls-up.   
  
Rupert was accusin' Red of holding out on him, Red was defendin' herself, and both were gettin' louder to be heard above the din. The other witch was crying, but at least she was quiet about it. Harris was blusterin' on about what he'd do to me if I was lying, and his little demon bird was tryin' to snatch the donut out of his hand before he could he could smear the jam that was runnin' down his arm. And then I turned an' faced the Slayer, who hadn't made a peep in more than five minutes.  
  
She was sittin' on the sofa, her head back an' her eyes shut tight. For half a mo', I thought she was sleeping. Then she opened those big green Gila monsters of hers an' looked around the room at her nearest and dearest. She looked at me, an' nodded, once.  
  
I stuck the tips of two fingers in my mouth an' let out with a real ear-splitter. They all shut up an' glared at me until the Slayer cleared her throat. Then they turned an' glared at her.  
  
"So... Willow, how about if you tell me what the REAL prophecy has to say? Or did you and Giles want to arm wrestle, or something? 'Cause I can wait."   
  
There was a long silence that wasn't really silent, 'cause Red's little witchy-bird was sobbin' an' snifflin' there in the corner. When she realized that we could hear her, she bolted out the back door. Red never even turned to look. I wonder about her sometimes. She'll learn soon enough about throwin' away things you can't afford to lose, I reckon.  
  
At that moment, though, she had her head buried in one of the larger tomes she'd lugged with her, showing the Watcher what she'd come up with. When I looked close at his face, I could see that he still wasn't best-pleased with how things were playin' out. But given his history with those wankers that employed him, I guessed it wouldn't take an army from hell with the Council's logo on their chests to make him believe what we were sayin'.  
  
"See? Right here. It references Matthew 16:19...'And I will give  
unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.' But then, down here, it repeats it, but see how this symbol is used over the word for heaven? It's the opposing symbol. It turns the word into its opposite."  
  
"Yes... yes, I see it. But how does it...? I mean, what can it possibly refer to?" Then Rupert had himself a little fit an' banged the book shut, nearly catching Red's fingers while he was at it. She jumped a bit, but then stuck out her chin.   
  
"Well, I don't know yet. But I think it's worth looking at, especially since the stuff the Council sent us didn't even mention-"  
  
"Please, Willow. I can't believe you'd even entertain the notion that the Council could-she's their SLAYER, for God's sake."  
  
And that's when Harris's bird joined in, an' at that moment an' ever after, my opinion of Demon Girl shifted.  
  
"Is she? Is she really? Because it seems to me that Buffy hasn't been THEIR slayer in a really long time. She doesn't follow orders. She has a lousy attitude. She keeps coming back from the dead. Frankly, if I were the Council, I might want to get rid of her, too."  
  
Harris, of course, moved right in to shut her up. "Anya, honey, this isn't really-"  
  
"Shut up, Xander." That was Buffy. And sweet music to my ears, might I add. "You were saying, Anya?"  
  
"It's just that you're a lousy employee. If I were your boss, I'd fire you. And if I couldn't fire you--"  
  
"OK, Anya, that's enough. Time to go home now." Harris had her by the arm an' was draggin' her toward the door.   
  
"Let go of me!" She pulled herself away and turned to face Willow. "And one other thing. If you think about it, that translation makes perfect sense. You loosed Buffy on earth, didn't you? You grabbed her out of wherever she was and brought her back here. And when you loose something on earth, you loose it in hell too. At least, according to that prophecy, you do. So I guess that means that there's a Slayer wandering around in hell right this minute. And that's probably not such a good thing, is it? Since hell is pretty pissed off at us right now?"  
  
Demon Girl was right, of course. It all made bloody perfect sense. 


	22. Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 8

Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 8  
Author: VicNoir  
Rating: R  
Disclaimers, etc.: please see Chapter 1.  
  
  
Such bloody perfect sense that we all stood about gapin' at one another for a full minute or more, before the Slayer finally started in giggling. I say it was a giggle 'cause I don't know what else t'call it - but it wasn't like anythin' happy. Even when she dropped back to the sofa an' started in with the little snorts an' the tears rollin' off her face, there was nothin' funny about it. And they were all gobsmacked, and me with 'em, I'm ashamed to say.  
  
It took the Lil' Bit, who'd been quiet that whole time - so quiet I hadn't even seen her there, sittin' as she was on the floor, at the other end of the sofa. Anyway, it was her that made the Slayer quit, and there was nothin' gentle about the way she took hold of her big sis an' shook her an' finally belted her a right good one across the jaw.  
  
'Twas enough to shut her up, but the tears kept comin', on and off, all the rest o' the night. Even later, when we were busy fightin' off the forces of evil, I looked up an' caught her bawlin' - but I'm gettin' ahead o' myself again.  
  
Anyway, the Slayer quit with the sniggers an' chortles, wiped her face with the backs of her hands, an' reached up to give Dawn a squeeze.   
  
"So... there's a Slayer in hell? Another me?" She took a pause there, as if she couldn't quite wrap her mind 'round the entire meaning of that. Then she cut to the chase. "How do I get her out?"  
  
An' then she let go with a bleedin' mighty hiccup. Sorta broke the tension, if you know what I mean.  
  
"We'll need to do more research, certainly. This is hardly a common occurrence. In fact, I believe I can honestly say that, if it is indeed true, nothing like it has happened in the history of... well.... history." The Watcher ran his hand through his hair in that way that means he's right beside himself an' sat down heavy on the sofa next to the Slayer.  
  
Willow opened her mouth to say somethin', and there was a hard thump against the back wall, an' then another. Cruller Boy dropped the stunned statue act an' flung open the door. Red's little witchy-bird fell in on the floor and lay there, lookin' stunned.  
  
"Shut the door... they're coming... shut the - " An' she fainted dead away.   
  
Then came the stench. It rolled in through the open door in waves, an' the Slayer couldn't get across the room quick enough shut it out. And with it came the low black shadowy blighters from the boneyard. They were glidin' about the room an' up an' down the walls, blottin' out the light.  
  
"Everybody, get down!" That was the Slayer, taking charge. As if anythin' any of us could do would be enough.  
  
Don't quite understand, do you, pet? We, the original band o' buggered, havin' faced down Glorificus an' any number of beasties with teeth an' claws enough to rend us all to bits - we? Outmatched by a lot of shadowy flit-abouts? Don't rightly know if I can make you see the truth of it, though.   
  
All those fire an' brimstone TV scripture-cookers, with their rot about everlasting burning torment an' nary a drop to drink - well, I s'pose there's a point to it. 'Cause how d'you talk about it in a way folks can see an' feel an' touch enough to fear it? How d'you make anything or anyone know what hell really is? But it was in the room with us then, an' this is the best I can do to describe it...  
  
There was a darkness there, right? But not the darkness of night, 'cause the night knows that the day waitin' just the other side of the blackest hour will knock it on its arse every time. The darkness of... despair, I reckon. Only not even that. There's no word for it in any language I know. It's what I tasted in the blood of every meal that ever came to me willingly, slinkin' along an alleyway, searchin' out an end to the world without havin' the guts to eat a bullet or pop some pills. It was in the eyes of that poor chit when Darla lifted her brat's carcass for her to see. It was in the way Dawn dug her nails into my arm whilst we were kneelin' next to the broken shell of the Slayer, all those months ago. An' it's in the heart of every true lover that's ever heard the words, "No. I'm sorry, no."   
  
It isn't death. It's what makes you pray for death.  
  
But only in small bites an' tiny tastes, 'cause nothin' alive nor undead could stand up long under the weight of it in any real amount. Hope always intrudes, don't it, to lift the burden? Even when it has no business bein' there, it finds a way to slip in an' save your soul, or save your sanity, or just save the soddin' day.  
  
Not a lot of hope in that room right then, lemme tell you, ducks. That cold black despair, for lack of a better description, was ridin' high on the backs of those elusive little buggers, an' suckin' the will right out of us. We panicked, the lot of us, feelin' it invade, feelin' it slide under our skins an' into our heads, whisperin' that nothin' but surrender could ease the stifling weight of it. 'Twas the true nature of hell, right up close an' personal.   
  
Harris went for the weapons chest. At least the boy was makin' the effort - I'll give him that. His chit was standin' in a corner, staring straight out in front of her at nothin' I could see. But I caught a glimpse at the look on her face, an' it weren't a pretty thing. Then I remembered the little ghoul what presented itself to me in the cemetery... the one with the maggoty peepers?  
  
I grabbed her arm an' whirled her about... but her eyes rolled back into her head, an' she dropped where she stood. That made two of 'em down, with Red's bird still bein' out, an' the stench was gettin' stronger by the second.  
  
"Don't look at 'em!" I yelled it over... over what? Nobody else was sayin' much of anything, but it was like shoutin' over a high wind.   
  
Will an' the Slayer dragged Witchy-poo an' Demon Girl over behind the sofa. I turned to look for the Niblet an' caught her startin' in with the transfixed bit. I didn't stop to ask questions - just slung her over my shoulder an' heaved her behind the sofa with the others. Then me an' the Slayer both reached for the blanket to cover 'em. That's when I saw that the Chosen One was bawlin' again.  
  
Harris was taking swipes at shadows with an axe. The Watcher was flippin' madly through one of his tomes, an' Red was standin' in the center of the room, eyes squeezed shut an' hands over her ears, shriekin' a protection spell that wasn't doin' much of anythin' that I could detect.  
  
The Slayer was perched on the back of the sofa, duckin' the flitterers right an' left. She knew enough not to track one for too long, but she was watchin' the bunch of 'em fly about, an' tryin' to formulate some plan of attack, from what I could tell. Her face was a picture - tears drippin' off her chin an' her eyes full of something I couldn't quite place - but she was all aglow, somehow, as if the chaos surroundin' her had lit a torch inside her.  
  
An' lookin' back, o' course, it's simple enough to see. All that unholiness, all that profound evil - it called it out in her. Champion of the light, Heaven's own warrior? In what other kind of circumstance should she glow her bloody brightest, after all?  
  
An' they avoided her, you know. All the rest of us, bein' assaulted by the stench an' the little visions of our creepiest, crawliest boogedy-boos - but not our girl. They made themselves a wide berth 'round her, as if the sparks flyin' off her might incinerate the lot of 'em.  
  
Then the Watcher got himself up on the table an', raisin' a finger to the sky like some bloke from the Old Testament, he intoned the following: "Get thee behind me; thou art an offence unto me!"  
  
All right... I reckon it was a New Testament chap after all.  
  
An' the little blighters stuttered an' jerked a bit in their meanderings. There's no other way to describe it, really. The Watcher shouted it again, louder, liftin' his arms above his head. The flittin' shadows stuttered once more, as if they'd become a mite uncertain.  
  
The third time Rupert raised his voice, Red an' Harris joined in. The fourth time, the Slayer added hers to the mix. The blighters were fadin', along with the stench, an' that caught-in-a-shitstorm might-as-well-give-up feeling.  
  
The yelled it again, an' then they all looked at me.   
  
Right. Like I'm gonna start spoutin' the very words of Christ. Fancied watchin' my tongue turn to cinders, did they?  
  
Didn't matter in the end. They joined hands together, like the children of Heaven they were an' still are, an' called it out one last time... an' that was all. Don't know whether the shadow-bastards slid out under the door or just evaporated, but they were there an' then they weren't, an' that was all that counted.  
  
We stood about for just a mo' or two more, an' then each of us found a spot to slump down, or lean, or just flat out lie back an' let the fact that we weren't awash in hell's own cesspool sink in an' take hold. After a while, Harris an' Willow went to look after the fallen soldiers behind the sofa, an' me an' the Slayer an' Rupert sat about, thinkin' deep thoughts.   
  
Buffy reached over an' poked the Watcher to get his attention. He looked gray and old, leaning against a leg of the very table from which he'd vanquished the baddies.   
  
"So... that was a really cool spell. Simple, but big with the effective. Where'd you find it?"  
  
Willow piped up to answer her from across the room. "Matthew 16:23."  
  
The Slayer looked doubtful. Sometimes the shoddy quality of the school system over here appalls even the likes of me.  
  
"Biblical, pet. 'Twas a line Christ used on some wicked, worldly blokes that didn't see things quite His way." I looked over at Rupert. "Bleedin' stroke of luck it worked an' didn't make things worse, Watcher."  
  
He struggled to his feet then, lookin' weary but right pleased with himself. "One thing I've learned in lo these many years in the trenches, Spike: when in doubt, go with the classics."  
  
Not a bad motto, as it turned out.   
  
  
  
tbc 


End file.
